


Witch Slap

by tatapb



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A lot of angst apparently, Al is a Curse-Breaker, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Draco Malfoy is a Good Parent, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue Compliant, Next-Gen, Not Harry Potter and the Cursed Child Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Ravenclaw Rose Weasley, Rose is a Healer, Scorp is a Quidditch Player, Scorpius Malfoy & Albus Severus Potter Friendship, Slow Burn, Slytherin Albus Severus Potter, Slytherin Scorpius Malfoy, it's happening against my will but also i'm living for it so i'm sorry, scorose, some of it is funny angst tho so it's tolerable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-04-22 02:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 167,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatapb/pseuds/tatapb
Summary: Adulting by any other name would still be a proper bish. Rose is struggling to keep up at St Mungo's, Al is mending a broken heart and Malfoy... well. Malfoy's a prat. A good looking prat, but a prat nonetheless. They're all doing their best and failing miserably.
Relationships: Scorpius Malfoy & Rose Weasley, Scorpius Malfoy/Rose Weasley
Comments: 245
Kudos: 249





	1. The Single Worst Idea Ever

**Author's Note:**

> Witch Slap is now almost two years old, which means we've been doing steady progress! Comments are lovely and welcome, with the added bonus that in Ao3 I can actually reply back, which wasn't really possible in fanfiction.net.
> 
> Edit: Chapters 1, 2, 3 and 4 have been edited and proofed as of Oct 20 2020

**October 18th, 2027**

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Rose glared at the clock on the wall, ticking and tocking her precious time away. Midnight had just struck, marking the sixteen hours left until her Microbiology midterm.

That meant she was still missing a plethora of infections, each one more convoluted than the previous. She still hadn't reviewed all Fungal Infections and the ones caused by Protozoa, not to mention Bacterial Skin and Wound Infections. She could probably get away without cramming the Foodborne Diseases too hard - Healer Choi, the head of Magical Bugs hadn't been that keen on them in class, odds were he'd be equally dismissive in the exam.

Still, between the Fungal, Protozoa, Bacterial Skin and the stupid, stupid Blood-borne Bacterial diseases she had her hands full.

As Penny Nicholson might say, she was rightly fucked and not in the fun way.

The only thing that could conceivably save her from an Exceeds Expectations or, Merlin forbid, an Acceptable was a miracle.

The universe could probably cook up one for her. In fact, the universe probably _should_. She was the byproduct of two thirds of the Golden Trio, that had to count for something. And it wasn't like she was using this miracle for something useless or superficial, no. Unlike her dragon loving sibling, she had noble goals.

The healing of the masses.

The curing of the sick.

An Outstanding in Microbiology.

Rose stared blankly at the hands on the clock.

Nothing happened, of course. There was no miracle, no divine intervention to be had. The only thing that happened was that she had wasted five minutes of her precious, ever trickling time.

She was fucked, plain and simple. Royally and utterly screwed.

She told herself to breathe, in and out. In and out.

She could do this. She'd pulled it off before, with less time on her hands. Then again, she'd done it for Anatomy and Physiology, which was Flemming's department. And Flemming was far nicer than Choi, who was an absolute beast. The man _never_ smiled, which could be awfully convenient some days when one didn't have the energy to actually smile back and equally terrifying the next, when one had to face him in an oral exam.

Maybe she should review Foodborne Diseases after all.

She heard the door to the study room creak open, but didn't look up.

"How's my favourite cousin in the whole world doing?"

Rose still didn't look up. Her shaking hands were still frantically shuffling through the endless stack of papers, desperately trying to find her notes on Foodborne Diseases.

"I brought you coffee."

She didn't need to look up to know it was Albus Potter. She didn't need to look up to know he was smiling obnoxiously at her. She didn't even need to look up to know he wanted something from her.

It was the worst time possible for this.

"What do you want?"

"Can't I just check on my best friend?"

She could see a paper cup being waved on the very edge of her peripheral vision. From behind a precarious pile of books and notes, twenty-one year old Rose Weasley finally looked up and scowled at the intruder.

"Cut the crap, Al." She carefully took the cup of coffee from his hands and set it down on the floor, lest it disrupt the impossible physics that were holding her books aloft. "What. Do. You. Want?"

Less than sixteen hours left before her exam and this was what the universe had come up with? Family bonding?

Some other time this might have been nice, considering how she didn't see enough of Albus on a good week, much less when she was drowning.

Now, however?

She wanted to scream. Creature of poor impulse control that she was, scream she did.

"WELL?"

"I'mgettingaflatmoveinwithme_please_."

He said it all in one go, as if it was only one word. One of Al's most extraordinary capabilities, which he shared with Lily, was the ability to say a million words in under ten seconds.

Rose crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned back against her rather uncomfortable chair.

"No."

"Come on, just think about it before you dismiss it!"

"No."

"Just for one second!"

Rose sighed. She didn't have the time for this. More accurately, she didn't have the energy for this.

Nonetheless, as she looked at her cousin's earnest, hopeful face, she decided against just kicking him out of the room. She'd have to do it the hard way, the time-consuming way.

"You want me to think about it?"

"Yeah," Al replied, his lips curling into a wide smile. "But really, really think about it. I personally think it's brilliant."

"Okay." She looked up at the ceiling, her eyes fixated on a single point and silently counted to ten, in what she hoped was an accurate mimicry of her in deep thought.

One…

Two...

She then lowered her eyes to meet Al's expectant face. "It's still a no."

"You're making good money, you're practically a Healer!" Al's grin had been wiped clean at this point, his ever-mounting frustration growing. "Don't you want a place of your own?"

"No, I don't." It was shocking really, how little she gave a fuck about her independence at this one moment in time. "And I'm a Healer-In-Training, not a Healer yet by any reasonable measure."

"But-"

"No." Rose glared at him, anger starting to bubble in her stomach. "It's a no, Al. Now bugger off, I need to study."

Her despair seemed to register on the boy's brain. He hesitated for a second, his gangly body swaying back and forth. Unfortunately, he seemed to be in no hurry to leave.

"Al, I swear-"

"We can't make rent on our own," he spluttered with a sort of dogged determination on his face. "Scorp-"

"Wait, 'we can't'? 'Our own'? Is that plural I hear?"

He at least had the decency to look guilty.

One thing was to barge into her study room on the eve of an important exam. Another thing entirely was to barge into her study room on the eve of an important exam to ask her to move in with Scorpius Bloody Malfoy.

"Well, yes," Al fidgeted, blood rushing to his cheeks. "Scorp and I-"

"Are you insane?" From the looks of it, he might be. There was an entire ward in St. Mungo's dedicated to cases like this and from the looks of it Al was a prime candidate. The Head of Janus Thickey would be thrilled to find such a perfect example of absolute and utter delusional madness. "You actually expect me to move in with Scorpius Malfoy?"

"Yes, but you'd be moving with me. Ignore Scorpius, you'd hardly even notice he's there."

That was doubtful. Scorpius Malfoy was and had always been an obnoxious wanker. Age had done little to improve on his condescending manner and unfortunately for poor, dear Al, her and him were a little like oil and water.

Also, there was the fact that they couldn't stand each other, no matter how much they tried for Al's sake. Even on their best behaviour, there were curses and swears and infantile name-calling.

Whenever she ran into him, it was like they were eleven years old all over again.

"Have you even mentioned this to him?"

"Yeah, of course. He's all for it."

Scorpius Malfoy might be a lot of things, but he wasn't a lunatic. Which meant Albus must have pestered him to the point of lunacy, which in turn meant he intended to brainwash her as well.

"No."

"Just hear me out!" Al slammed his hands on her work table, causing an earthquake of disastrous proportions. "Goddamnit, I swear sometimes-"

Books shuddered and collapsed to the ground, followed by a steady stream of her notes and papers. Rose leaned against her chair, a hand covering her mouth.

Shit.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Al removed a wand from his pocket and gave it a few flickers. "Look, I know this is a bummer." One by one, the papers, the notes, the books floated back up, aligning themselves far more perfectly than they had been previously. "I know you need to study but I wouldn't bother you if I didn't think this would be good for you."

"Al, I have a test of massive proportions tomorrow. I'm trying to wrap my head around a million diseases of all shapes and sizes and they're not penetrating my thick skull. Can't this wait?"

"I haven't seen you in a bloody month, so no, it can't wait."

Her blue eyes met his and she chewed on her lower lip.

"You have five minutes to convince me," she uttered slowly, as if he were a little dimwitted. "After that, I'm kicking you out."

"Okay, so we found-"

The word 'we' shook her to the core, reminding her yet again of why this was impossible. It was absurd. It was foolish and misguided and she would _not _be persuaded.

"Ask Lil!" she groaned. "Damnit, ask James!"

"That wasn't five minutes!"

"No, it wasn't! But you have other people, for goodness' sake!" Her tone of voice rose a few octaves higher. "You can't ask _me_ to... to..."

If Albus had wanted her to move in with just him, she would have been glad to. She'd have been nothing short of ecstatic, though, honestly, she wished he'd picked a better moment to ask her than the eve of a test.

However, with Scorpius Malfoy in the mix, there was just no bloody way in hell it was going to happen.

Ever.

The very thought of sharing a living space with the git made her anxiety skyrocket.

"You know as well as I do that Lil has the attention span of a goldfish and can't hold onto a job to save her life," Albus scoffed, as if the very idea of moving in with Lily was absurd. "And James is planning on moving in with Holly and having a million babies so I can't well ask him now, can I?

But asking her to move in with Malfoy was any less ludicrous?

What was he on?!

"I can't Al," Rose protested, a hint of earnestness breaking her cool. She didn't want to hurt him over something like this. Then his face brightened up with what seemed like hope and she crushed all good intentions, growling: "I won't."

"You're my best friend!"

"Yes, Al, I am. And the primary reason why I remain your best friend is I don't live with you." Rose rolled her eyes and flickered her wand, floating a chair over to him. "And you usually leave me the fuck alone when I'm studying!"

"Look, it's a great place," Al reasoned, taking the chair with a grin and straddling it. Making himself comfortable, the wanker. "It's two steps away from St. Mungo's, your place of employment. High ceilings, fireplace, large windows, the whole enchilada."

Trust Al to compare a flat to food when she was certain she hadn't eaten for more than eighteen hours. The mere thought of it made her sick.

"It sounds great," she started, willing her stomach to settle, "but-"

"Look, it has enough rooms you can set an office."

"I have a study at home." She did, but she didn't use it. She just hoped he didn't know that. "And if this conversation is any indication of the hell our future lives will be together, then I want no part in it. Now bugger off, I honestly can't remember anything I read since you walked in."

"But the office isn't yours, Rosie. And don't pretend you can study at your parents' place. That's why I always need to corner you in a library or a study room, because you're physically incapable of absorbing knowledge at home."

And he knew. Of course he knew.

"Al…"

She could feel herself getting annoyed. From the feel of it, her cheeks were turning a lovely shade of puce.

"Oh, could you just _listen_ before you shit all over my plans, you jerk?"

Now Al was starting to become annoyed. He might not have gotten her dad's angry tomato flush, but Aunt Ginny's genes were starting to flare a little. They both stared each out other levelly, each silently gauging the level of irritation the other was at. From the looks of it, Al was about to bust a fuse if she didn't let him have it out.

He was also the sort to hold a grudge and from the looks of it, if she didn't let him air his grievances, he'd run away and hide at Yardley's for at least a month.

Rose sighed. "Will you leave me the fuck alone if I don't?"

"No, I will not leave you alone," he replied, with the self-satisfied look of one who knew they'd won the battle. "I will continue pestering you until you _listen_."

_Sigh_.

Times like these made her wish she hadn't quit smoking.

"Will you leave me the fuck alone if I _do_?"

"Eventually, yes." Al gazed at her earnestly. "I'll make it quick."

Rose sighed for the third time. She brushed a hand through her already dishevelled hair (her 'study hair' as her brother called it) and rubbed her temples.

"Fine. Pitch."

She could feel him getting excited again, boyish exuberance flowing with every word. She was determined that, no matter how he'd won this particular battle he would _not_ win the war. After all, Scorpius Malfoy? What did he suppose was going to happen, the three of them would just walk into the sunset, one smiling happy family?

She doubted he even _knew_ how to smile. He knew how to smirk and glower and a series of other things that could be passed off as smiles, but never an actual _grin_.

"Now, here's the thing. Malfoy has his allowance and his laughable income from his reserve position at Puddlemere."

Rose sniggered. Yeah, he did, the spoiled brat.

"I have a stable salary from my internship at Gringotts. The house is amazing, it's one of Scorp's dead relatives. Pureblood trash, but amazing windows and high ceilings. The owner is his third-degree once removed or whatever cousin and he's renting it to us far below market value. If we—"

His tirade was interrupted by the door creaking open again. From behind it emerged the spoiled brat in all his blond glory. "Convince her yet?" He languidly leaned against the door frame, not even bothering to say 'hi'.

Rose glared at him.

If only looks could kill. Or maim, she would settle for maiming.

"Not yet, I was getting there." Al protested, getting up to his feet and smacking his best friend - his _other_ best friend - on the chest. "I was mid-pitch. You ruined it."

"Alright, good. Don't mind me kids," he said, offering one of his smirks. Not a smile, mind you. _Smirk_. "Just pretend I'm not here."

"Oh for the love of—" Rose groaned, burying her face in her hands. This was going to take twice as much time now with Malfoy's inevitable running commentary. "Why the fuck is he here?!"

"Because I have a deep and personal interest in this conversation, you dishevelled harpy."

"Shut up Scorp." Albus stood between them as he had a million times before. He had probably noticed her hand instinctively reaching out for her wand just as she'd noticed Malfoy's hand reaching into his own pocket. "Drop your wand Rose, we're adults."

Albus glared at Scorpius. The prat glared right back at him.

Rose could practically read the silent conversation between them. The gist of it was _'don't poke the bear, we need the bear to want to move in with us'_ interjected with a few protests of '_but I want to poke the bear_'.

In the end, Albus was apparently successful, because Malfoy leaned back against the wall again, shut his trap, smirked and pretended to lock his mouth and throw away the key.

She needed to ask Albus to teach her how to do that. A quiet Malfoy was a pretty Malfoy, that is, if one was into entitled, pasty blonde wankers.

Albus cleared his throat. "Like I was saying… if you pitch in with your almost Healer salary, that house could be ours. You could have a room of your own and another room that we would turn into a study into which we solemnly swear we would never, ever, _ever_ step foot into."

"Unless you die from all that studying, in which case we'd need to pry your cold, lifeless body from it," Scorpius added helpfully.

Albus threw him a dirty look and ignored him. "You could have all your books available, close by, and not have to lug them around whenever you need to study. It would do wonders for your back Rosie."

"The man has a point. Your posture is kind of shit, Rose."

"Oh, fuck off Malfoy."

"Yes, fuck off," Albus hissed at Malfoy between gritted teeth, before continuing his tirade. "On top of that, we could make you coffee in the morning. Or not if you don't want us to."

"But..." It was tempting. It really was. "Al... come on, you can't be serious."

She looked around at the dingy, poorly lit room whose only benefit was not being inside her house.

She _hated_ leaving the house to study.

She _hated_ having to go back home after an all-nighter.

She especially _hated_ all the wasted commute time.

"Pipe down, Weasley." Scorpius looked intently at her, almost as if he were aware of her train of thought. "Let Al finish."

Unfortunately, his voice was a cold reminder of the _one_ reason why the whole concept was simply absurd. A pipe dream.

"We would be stellar flatmates," Al said, seemingly encouraged the unexpected support. "You wouldn't have to put up with your dad barging into your room to see how you are doing or your mother worrying about how you haven't eaten in days when you're on one of your crazy study binges or your brother messing up your study when searching for things that aren't even there. We would leave you all to your _lonesome_."

"Yup," interjected the prat, apparently all up for this... 'leaving her alone'. "We couldn't care less if you starve yourself. We'll just remove you from the premises when you start to smell."

"That all sounds lovely but—"

"Rose, please? Pretty please?" At this point, Albus had resorted to begging. He looked miserable. "If you don't do it for you, do it for me. I need this. I need independence."

'Independence' in Al's particular case meant a place to hide out from his parents when he was having one of his adolescent fits. Up until now, that had translated into him holing himself up at Yardley's place whenever something happened to peeve him, which in Al's case happened frequently and for the most varied reasons. It was childish and he really _should_ grow out of it at some point, but it was who he was. She couldn't expect him to change overnight.

From his corner of the room, Scorpius guffawed. "Yeah, do it for the man child Weasley, before he cries."

The problem with this was that if Al moved in with Scorp and she didn't, she'd never be able to visit. She knew herself and there was no way she'd Floo into a house where she _might_ encounter... urgh. _Him_

"I've been working so hard and all I wanted was—" Albus ignored him and continued appealing to her sentiments, which was rather wise of him considering this entire endeavour didn't have a leg to stand on other than her affection for him. "Rose, I mean, I know he's a git but-"

Rose had already made her decision. She was going to regret this, wasn't she?

"Fine."

"_What_?!" Both Albus and Scorpius sputtered it out at the same time, like the well-oiled idiot machine they were.

"I said fine." Rose repeated quietly, rubbing her temples. Her brain was like a freight train at this point, working feverishly to sort chaos that would ensue. She would need to move. Her mum would be proud, her dad would completely lose it, Hugo… well, Hugo probably would think it was neat. "Fucking fine."

She was going to regret this, wasn't she?

"I'll move in with you. Now leave me the hell alone before I change my mind."

"Yes, oh Merlin, yes, we'll leave!" Contented puppy that he was, happy that he had gotten what he wanted, Albus made his way to the door. "Come on Scorp."

Just before he went reached it, however, Scorpius stopped him, one of his arms barring the door. "How do I know you're not just trying to get rid of us?" he asked, grey eyes narrowing at her.

Now he was just riling her up. Which was rather immature and frankly unwise considering Al had just spent the better part of an hour convincing her to overcome the fact that she hated his guts and wanted him to burn in hell.

"Malfoy, get out," she spat, glaring back at him. "I said I would, I can change my mind."

"Ah, see? That's precisely what I was afraid of, considering just how completely unreliable you are." He smirked, taunting her without any presumption of innocence. "Can I get your consent in writing before we go?

She _knew_ he was doing it on purpose. Regardless, she could feel the anger boiling in her as it always did, whenever he actually talked to her. Ten years of poorly contained anger had somehow boiled down to this: coexisting under the same roof.

It made her sick to her stomach.

"Malfoy, I swear to god if you're not out that door in three seconds…" She picked up her wand and pointed it directly at him, ignoring the fact that Al was standing between them. "Three-"

She was certain she could hit that blonde hair from a mile away, even if Al were _hugging_ him. After all, she'd had _years_ of practice.

"You may develop a convenient case of amnesia—" It was like he _wanted_ her to hex him. "Or just plain change your mind, like you just _threatened_."

"One… _Petrificus Totalus_." She pointed her wand at the sniggering asshole. There was a cruel sort of pleasure tugging at her as she felt the spell connect and he dropped like a fly. She got up from her chair and peered thoughtfully at her handiwork.

"You didn't actually need to hex him, you know?" Al was looking down at Malfoy's glazed face with an amused look. "You'll have plenty of time when we're-"

"_Don't... _say it," she interrupted. "I don't think I'll be able to go through with it if I _think_ about it, which is why I'm going to pretend this conversation didn't happen until it's actually time to start moving."

"Fair enough. Can I de-hex him here or should I-" Al gestured inquiringly between the blonde tosser and the door, looking rather unfazed by the whole business.

After so many years, he had some experience with levitating Malfoy far the hell away from her.

"Just... do it far from here, Al, or I'm bound to do it again the second he opens that stupid trap of his." Rose picked up the now cold cup of coffee Al had brought her and her nose crinkled as she downed it. She coughed a little, a shiver running up her spine as what tasted like cold, sewer mulch went down her throat. Still, coffee was coffee and she still had a few hours ahead of her. "We'll talk about this when I don't have a theoretical exam from hell in sixteen hours."

Al's wand flickered and Malfoy's limp body was levitated toward the door. When he was about to leave, just stepping out the door, he stopped.

"You know I'm really glad you're doing this, right?" Al's smile was warm and somehow worth every single second she'd wasted. "I've missed you."

"I know." Rose bit her lip and smiled back at the gangly brunette boy. He was about to turn and leave when she cried out: "Al? Make sure he hydrates when he wakes up."

There was a smile on her face as the door closed.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.


	2. When You Live With Complete Idiots

** October 20, 2027**

“You’re leaving?” Penny Nicholson asked, her eyes bugging wide as Rose got up to her feet. “But--”

Rounds needed prepping. Papers needed writing. Countless spells needed swotting up on. Around them were dozens of books, dozens of files, dozens of faceless patients, senseless symptoms and nameless diseases that needed to be sorted through. 

But all that would have to wait. Oh, yes, the entire buggering world would have to hold its breath for the next three to four hours in the name of social obligation.

“It’s Friday.” Rose shook her head and started shuffling her books into her bag. “Don’t even.”

"But--"

Reasonable as Pen’s unspoken arguments might have been, they paled in comparison to the hissy fit Ron Weasley had thrown the last time she'd skipped out on Friday Dinner.

“I already said I'd be there.”

And Merlin knew anything other than two weeks notice wasn’t enough to skip Friday Dinner. 

_ Hugo _ was coming all the way from Romania, so why wouldn't she?

Not to mention they’d oh-so-gracefully given her last week off on account of exams. And the week prior because she was doing night shifts. 

Her dad was bound to be dusting the All We Ask For Is One Night A Week speech by now. Classic, of course. Almost as good as the This Is Not A Hotel, You Can’t Just Show Up To Sleep speech, with which he’d been so kind to grace her earlier in the week. 

“Now that you’re moving out,” Penny asked, “do you think you’ll still need to go? _ Every _ Friday?”

Rose huffed, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “My family’s like the Mafia, you only leave when you’re dead.”

Friday Dinner was an institution. It was warm, loving and just a jolly good time. 

Rose hated it. 

In the Maslow Pyramid of Rose’s Needs, time with her family ranked far below that nagging feeling that screamed ‘you need to study’ at the top of its lungs. Every ticking second spent with her family equalled anxiety and guilt.

“You could always fake your own death,” Penny suggested with a grin. “Or lock your family out of the Floo.”

“Except if my dad found out, he’d kill me,” Rose said, snorting in return. “Though the sweet release of death is sounding pretty great about now.”

Penny’s grin grew into something downright feral. “Your mum’s cooking?”

“That’s what she calls it anyway.”

* * *

“You’re moving in with _ who_?” her dad sputtered with his mouth full, nearly choking on the piece of loaf he’d been chewing.

In fairness, the choking might not have anything to do with Rose’s announcement. The British Minister of Magic had a lot of qualities, but her cooking was the culinary equivalent of an Unforgivable Curse.

The most seasoned Auror would’ve cracked under the duress of her mum’s roast.

“_Ron_…” Her mum’s tone was stern. “Don’t start.”

There were some benefits to Friday Dinner. It was an attempt at normalcy, at pretending that her mother wasn’t being eaten alive by her job just as much as Rose was being pounded into submission by her course load. It was a way of showing her dad that they indeed loved him and of trying (rather unsuccessfully) to pry information from Hugo about his secret life in Romania, the full details of which he usually kept to himself.

They were also a buggering mess.

“Over my dead body will you move in with that hellspawn!”

Rose sniggered. Spot on assessment, presentation could use some work.

“For goodness’ sake,” her mum said, rolling her eyes, “chew with your mouth closed.”

“Malfoy’s _son_?”

“Do me a favour and ignore anything your other parent says in the foreseeable future,” her mum warned, calmly grabbing her husband’s hand and holding it down in an attempt to get him to stop brandishing his fork. “When are you moving?”

In retrospect, maybe she should’ve picked a time when there weren’t as many sharp objects and choking hazards within reach.

“End of September,” Rose said, warily eyeing her red-eared progenitor. “I know it’s soon but--”

“Ron, remember to breathe.” Her dad looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “I, for one, think it’ll be a wonderful experience for you.”

“How is this okay with you?” her dad hissed. “_I_ hate them. _You_ hate them. _We_ hate--”

“We see them all the time,” her mum replied, a look of warning in her face, “and you can’t fault Astoria, the woman is--”

“The woman _married_ Draco Malfoy! If that’s not an indication of a deranged mind--”

“_Ron_\--”

Rose tore her eyes away from her dad’s puce face and nudged her chair closer to her brother’s. He had leaned back and was watching their parents bickering with the mildest of grins.

Hugo was the sort who enjoyed watching the world burn.

“What do _you_ think?” 

“I think it’s mental,” Hugo said, scoffing lightly and lazily prying his eyes from the Waterloo happening around them. “You two are going to kill each other.”

“Probably.” Rose shrugged. “But Al was keen.” 

There was a look of understanding on her brother’s face. 

“And what Albus wants, Albus gets,” he said, forcing down another bite of loaf. “Do _you_ want to live with them?”

When Al had asked, all she’d truly wanted was to get rid of him as fast as humanly possible. However, after she’d had a while to really think about it, the answer was fairly simple. 

“Al yes,” she said resentfully, “even if he _is_ a pest.”

She’d be willing to stake her wand that Al hadn't just popped up randomly. He had probably picked the eve of an important exam _precisely_ because he knew she’d be desperate to get rid of him. 

It was exactly the sort of thing Albus Potter _would_ do.

“And Malfoy?”

“I hope you’re willing to visit me in Azkaban,” Rose said dryly. She shook her head and stabbed a piece of the loaf with her fork, which she then proceeded to shred into tiny bits. “Malfoy’s a wanker to end all wankers.”

“Do I sense a ‘but’?” Hugo asked, a small smile on his freckled face. 

“But…" She leaned back against her chair, lips pursed into a thin line. "The pasty sod’s not going away any time soon,” she enunciated slowly, a small crease appearing between her eyebrows. “He’s here to stay.”

She had faintly hoped that he and Al would lose touch, that life’s unforgiving waves would scatter them apart and send their friendship crashing into a buggering cliff. 

Unfortunately, that hadn’t happened… and now they were moving in together. 

She didn’t like it, but there was sod all she could do about it. The only thing she _could_ reasonably hope to do was learn to live with it or, more to the point, learn to live with _him_.

Hugo nodded. “Makes sense. Are you going to make nice with the prat?”

“Within reason.”

Al _ had _ promised they’d leave her alone, but if he really believed it then he was more delusional than she’d pegged him for. She doubted it’d be a week before they were all at each other’s throats.

“But you _like_ Scorpius!” Hermione Granger, Minister of Magic’s voice had risen an octave, a clear sign that she was very close to losing her diplomatic shit. “You said so yourself!”

“I _never_!” 

Rose snorted: the indignant tone of her dad’s voice wasn’t fooling anyone.

“I think your exact words were, and I quote, ‘he’s a decent sort.”

Her dad’s requirements for being ‘a decent sort’ were sketchy at best. All it generally took for Ron Weasley to think someone ‘a decent sort’ was a game of chess or a spirited conversation about Quidditch. 

Her dad was uncomplicated like that.

“Doesn’t matter how sound his opinions about the Kestrals are, he’s still genetically wired to _become_ an asswipe! It just hasn’t manifested yet.”

“In spite of being an, er, ‘asswipe’, I bet Draco’s taking the news far better than you are.”

That had successfully shut her dad up... for all of three minutes before he was at it with her mum again, revisiting old wounds and making several not-so-veiled references to ferrets. 

“You know this has nothing to do with Malfoy,” Hugo commented, jerking a discreet thumb at the living conniption sitting next to him. “It’s me leaving for Romania all over again.” 

Rose hesitated and lowered her voice. “How long before it gets back to normal?”

Hugo shrugged, his mouth quirking into a crooked smile. “Depends on whether or not you want to capitalize on the peace and quiet of dad being miffed at you.”

* * *

**October 26, 2027**

They were sitting at his apartment in Yarrowhead, the one he’d been sharing with his former Ministry colleagues for the past three years. Whatever had possessed him to move in with them at the time, he’d be hard-pressed to tell you. He appeared to have been entirely divested of his intellectual faculties at the time.

“How did your parents take it?”

Scorp looked up from the book he was reading to meet Yardley’s expectant face.

“Fine,” he said, pursing his lips to hide his amusement at Yardley’s obvious disappointment. “Told me I could take a few extra things from the Manor if I wanted to.”

“That’s _ it_?!”

No doubt Yards expected at least _ some _ dramatics and histrionics to have happened behind the Manor’s hallowed doors of pureblooded bigotry. 

Fortunately for Scorp, the whole conversation had pretty much boiled down to ‘I’m moving in with Al and Rose’ and ‘that’s nice, dear’.

The door opened the merest crack and the disgruntled face of Cam Garner, Scorp’s Least Favourite Flatmate peered into the living room. 

In fairness, it was a very democratic household: the Least Favourite Flatmate title was shared by all three of them and Scorpius disliked them all equally, in spite of their tremendous efforts to stand out. 

“Are you taking the couch when you leave?” Cam sniggered. “I suppose you are. It _ is _ yours, innit?”

“Yep.”

“Of course it is!” Cam banged the door behind him, and they could hear him hissing a muffled, “What in this damned house isn’t?!”

The resentment in Cam’s voice rang loud and clear. It had only recently come to his attention that the vast majority of the furniture on the flat they shared had actually been procured by Scorp - or, more accurately, by Scorp’s parents.

Cam’s annoyance at discovering that he was going to become couchless was only surpassed by the shock he’d suffered the previous day when he’d realized he was also going to become bereft of plates, glasses, and any and all kitchen utensils. 

Not that sodding Cam ever bothered to wash them, of course. Scorp had once caught him eating his cereal out of a glass because he couldn't be arsed to cast a cleaning spell on a bowl.

The mere recollection of still made him shudder. He was scarred for life, really.

“Yes, Scorp,” Yardley said, mimicking Cam’s squeaky tone, “what in this damned house _ isn’t _ yours?”

“I’m pretty sure those ghastly curtains aren’t,” Scorp said, snorting derisively at the flowered drapes. “Neither are the folding chairs.”

The three of them glanced over at the series of flimsy folding chairs stacked up against the wall, a small film of dust clinging to its faux metallic surface.

“Remind me to buy at least _ some _ furniture of my own.” Al stretched over the green armchair he’d been sitting on and examined it appreciatively. “I take it that this is also yours?”

Yardley shuddered at the cautionary tale that were the terrible drapes and rickety chairs. “You’re taking _everything _when you move. I almost feel sorry for them.”

“_I _ don’t.”

The tiny spot in his mind reserved for Cam Gardner, Remy Walsh and Ed Hunt was remarkably free of anything resembling concern - or any emotion rather than annoyance, really.

“I still say you should’ve moved in with me,” Yardley griped at Al, throwing his long legs over the arm of his own chair. “You spend fifty percent of your time at mine anyway.”

Scorp rolled his eyes. “Yes, but then where would he hide when you two got into a fight?”

“We have _never _gotten into a fight,” Yardley replied, chest puffed. “Which just shows--”

“You _ don’t _actually live with him?” Scorp asked sweetly. 

Unlike Al and Scorp, who had been shoehorned into Slytherin the second the Hat touched their heads, easy-going Yardley had been sorted into Gryffindor. 

That meant Yards had never been _forced _to coexist with Al in close quarters for an extended period of time. True to his evasive nature, Al did spend a lot of time hiding from unwanted interactions, first at Yardley’s dorm and later Yardley’s place... but with the knowledge that he could always _leave _if he chose to.

“Speaking of getting into fights with people you live with…” Yardley started, a small smile on his face.

Rose Weasley. High and mighty, condescending and _perfect _ Rose Weasley. 

He didn’t mean ‘perfect’ in a good way either.

Scorp groaned and threw his book directly at Yardley’s grinning face. It grazed the boy’s head, hitting the wall behind him. 

“Hey, mind the hair!”

Scorp waved his wand, accioing the book back into his hands and holding it threateningly. “Stop reminding me that I agreed to live with that termagant then!”

“If you mean Rose, she still hasn’t backed out,” Al said with a small smile. “She already told her parents, so I’m guessing it’ll be smooth sailing from now on.” 

Sweet, delusional Al.

“That's what they said about the Titanic.” Yardley shook his head. “This is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“I’ve had plenty worse ideas.” Al let out a derisive snort. “This doesn’t even make it to the Top Five.”

The two of them resumed their bickering and Scorp rolled his eyes, opening his book and resuming his examination of the photo of Flynn Lawson doing the Winkle Dodge.

Except he wasn’t actually examining anything anymore. 

Instead, he was thinking about Rose Weasley... _ again_.

Urgh.

She was brilliant, driven, stunning, and far too witty for her own good. She thought she was _so _much better than everyone else and, worst of all, she probably _was_.

_ Everything _about her rubbed him the wrong way. She brought out the very worst in him, just like he seemed to bring out the very worst in her.

The only problem was… he didn’t mind her worst. At least her worst didn’t sit on a pedestal, looking down on the mere mortals beneath her, no. Her worst was right down there among them, biting and kicking and screaming.

No, Rose Weasley at her worst was fine… he just wasn’t sure how he’d be able to endure the paragon of virtue that was Lady Disdain at her best.

* * *

**November 1, 2027**

In spite of his passive-aggressive stomping around the house and occasional ‘you’re breaking my hearts’ for the past days, her dad was there with bells on to wave her goodbye, same as he'd always been.

“Don’t forget you can come back anytime,” her dad repeated for the millionth time as he walked her to the fireplace. “And if you need anything, _ anything _ at all--”

“I know dad, I know.”

It was a good day. Her notes and books had been impeccably packed and her mum had coordinated the wardrobe move. Her dad had even helped her take a few things from storage, all the time grumbling to mark his dissatisfaction, lest anyone forget what a grievous personal injury this whole affair was. 

He’d helped her Floo in the study’s towering grandfather clock, the one that was an obnoxiously loud ticker. Houses without one tended to feel eerily _quiet_.

Side bonus, she was certain it would drive Malfoy batty.

“Do you have enough money for the deposit? And rent? And for any furniture you might need? And--”

She doubted her dad would ever stop worrying that she didn't have enough cash or clothes or various commodities that he claimed were indispensable to the happiness and proper upbringing of a child but that were mostly just… weird.

He'd gone as far as buying her a broom back in First Year. First Year! Nobody had a broom then, nobody! Nobody other than maybe Scorpius Malfoy, but that was to be expected since he _was _a spoiled brat. Except of course plenty of people had immediately assumed _she _was a spoiled brat too and that had been a bugger.

This had been, of course, _ before _it had become painfully obvious to everyone that she was never going to use the broom, let alone become the reincarnation of Gwenog Jones that her father had always figured she was destined to become. 

“Yes, dad,” she said with a shadow of a smile. “I do.”

Not having the time to breathe meant it was also incredibly hard to find the time to actually spend any money.

“Do remember to _eat_, Rosie,” he fretted, wrapping an arm around her. “And to sleep.”

Rose hid her face on the crook of her dad’s arm and surreptitiously wiped the tear on her cheek against it. “Are we over the whole Malfoy thing, then?”

“I blame this one on your cousin,” her dad grumbled, a hand protectively patting the top of her head. “I’ll get over it… eventually.”

“Good. Will you be alright?”

With Hugo and her gone and her mum away more often than not, her dad would finally be living his Empty Nest Dream. 

Looking at him for the past few days, however, he looked… abandoned.

“Better than alright. I have _ plans_.” Her dad cleared out his throat and wrapped his arm tighter around her. “I’m going to turn your room and the study into a giant chess set. I’ve always wanted one and your mum always said there wasn’t enough space.” 

There was a smile in his voice and Rose snorted quietly. 

Her mum had kept the giant chess set at bay for almost twenty years and she was fast running out of excuses - _ reasonable _excuses anyway. Not that her dad actually intended to do it, it was simply one of the many, many ways he had of demanding her mum’s attention. 

With her parents, you could never be sure of what was an _actual _conflict and what was actually some form of convoluted and frankly disgusting foreplay.

“Oh, Merlin, it’s like you’re ten and leaving for Hogwarts all over again,” her dad said, his voice caught with emotion as he let the arm around her drop. “If it’s just about leaving you alone, I promise I can--”

“It’s not, dad,” she lied with a bright smile. “It’s about independence. And growing up. And learning to take care of myself rather than you having to always remind me to.”

Which he did, rather exhaustively. Merlin, she was finally going to have some peace and quiet, wasn’t she?

“Just promise me you’ll eat. Rule of thumb for regular people is around three times a day: breakfast, lunch, dinner.”

It was fairly hypocritical, really, this obsession her parents had with her dietary habits or lack thereof. The Minister of Magic ate perhaps one meal a day and that was when she got home and her husband forced it down her throat - and she _still _ruled the magical land. In fact, she probably had more time to rule the magical land precisely _because _she didn’t eat.

“I’ll _ try_,” she said, with a smile. She jerked a thumb toward the fireplace, swaying back and forth and asked, “Can I go now?”

“Yesterday you were five and now you’re leaving,” her dad said, wiping a small imaginary tear off the corner of his eye. 

"Dad…"

“You were about yay tall.”

“Dad--”

“And you wanted to go to the zoo to see the giraffes.”

Rose snorted. “Getting sentimental, dad.”

“Oh, fine, bugger off,” Ronald Weasley huffed with a smile, his ears reddening. “Grow up, see if I care.”

“Bye,” she said, giving him a last half hug and grabbing a handful of Floo powder. “No popping in unannounced or I’ll tattle to Nan.”

“You _wouldn’t_,” his dad said, a hand clutched to his chest with mock indignation. "Is there no loyalty anymore?"

“All's fair in love and war.”

And with a fizzling green flash, she was gone, leaving her grieving progenitor to plan new and exciting ways to plague his better half.

* * *

In the last few days, Rose and her dad had made several trips down the floo with endless boxes of books, clothes and assorted furniture. 

Said boxes were waiting for her when she popped out of the fireplace.

Literally waiting for her.

Lying there in wait.

In a pile. 

In the shape of a fucking _ wall_.

“What in the--”

_ Someone _had piled up about fifty boxes from floor to ceiling in front of the fireplace, successfully creating a physical barrier between the corner and the rest of the living room. Half the boxes weren’t even hers and a good portion of them had been transfigured to fit the several nooks and crannies to the very inch.

It must have taken them _hours_.

“Really?”

There was a quiet sniggering from the other side of the wall, accompanied by hushes and breathless “she’ll hear us”.

“Al…? Malfoy…?” 

Rose gave one of the boxes a tentative poke. Rather than precariously swinging and toppling over, the damned thing didn’t budge, which meant Al had used some sort of fixating spell.

One had to admire the dedication.

“Merlin, you guys are idiots.” Rose brushed a hand through her hair and groaned. “_Really_?”

The sniggering turned to full-blown laughter.

“Ha. Ha. Hilarious,” she said drily. “When you finally get it out of your systems you’d better start tearing this down.”

The words only elicited further guffaws and senseless whispering from across the trenches. 

This was going to take a while.

Rose rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall before slumping down to a sitting position. She rummaged through her bag, removed a folder from it and started sorting through the pages inside. The lighting wasn’t what you’d call perfect, but at least the two idiots were on the _ other _ side and therefore physically incapable of bugging her.

It took them a while to stop cackling like maniacs - about three pages worth of notes.

“My, my, _ my _ Rose, we didn’t hear you from behind that…” Al’s tirade was interrupted by a snort and frenzied laughter from the other side. He managed to choke out the word ‘fence’ in between what could only be described as _ giggling_.

Idiots. She was living with _ idiots_.

It took them a while before they finally calmed themselves enough to continue.

“Oh, _ dear_, old bean! Where _ did _ that come from?” That was Scorpius, apparently, in his absolute worst old English impression - not that it was _ too _ remote from his usual pedantic accent. “I’m certain it wasn’t here when we were around earlier.”

“Quite right, dear boy!” That was Albus, in an equally terrible accent. “It must have materialised whilst we were having our luncheon,” he continued, guffawing the word ‘luncheon’ between semi-hysterical laughter. “Must be one of those foreign materialising blockades, you know the French and their utterly silly contra-a-a--p--”

Rose’s ears perked up and she waited for Al to finally finish saying ‘contraptions’, except he was apparently incapable of it because he was far too busy dying of hysteria - not only him but Malfoy too, apparently.

After a while of calmly flicking pages and sorting through reference notes, the idiots on the other side of the wall finally seemed to regain their senses.

“Rose?” Al’s voice rang through the quiet living room. “Rosie?” There was a tentative pause. “Do you suppose she died of laughter, old fellow?”

She wasn’t even going to _deign _answering that. Let them think they’d been making fools of themselves for the past thirty minutes without an audience.

“Don’t get my hopes up, mate.” _ That _was obviously Malfoy, who by now had dropped the accent. “She _ is _ awfully quiet back there.”

“Ro-sieeee,” Albus cried out in a sing-song voice. “Well, we are hilarious, it could happen.”

“Wishful thinking,” Malfoy said, his voice tinted with suspicion. “Maybe she left.”

Decisive steps sounded against their stone floor and then, for a few seconds, there was blissful quiet.

“Nope, not dead,” Malfoy continued. “Nor left. She’s a _ mouth breather_.”

That did it.

“I am _not_,” Rose hissed, dropping her notes to her lap and directing an angry look at the wall. 

“See?” Malfoy asked, sounding awfully pleased with himself. “And yes, you are. A _ loud _ one at that.”

“Rose?” Al called out tentatively. He at least had the sense to pretend to be concerned. “You okay back there?”

“Yep.” Rose let the back of her head rest against the wall and closed her eyes for a second. “Catching up on some reading. You two carry on doing… whatever it was you two idiots were doing.”

Steps echoed again and soon, the two idiots were joined in a strategic conversation.

Strategic but not exactly quiet.

“Sounds like the calm before the storm,” Albus whispered ominously. “I’ve seen it before.”

Merlin, they _really _must’ve been bored out of their wits before she got there.

“So what are we supposed to do?” Oh my, did Scorpius Malfoy sound uneasy? “Should we unleash the manticore?” Nope, not uneasy. Just a different shade of obnoxious. “Do you propose we set the Harpy free? You _ do _ know she’ll eat us alive and spit out the bones, what callous monster--”

“I _ can _ hear you, you know?” Rose huffed indignantly. “_Prat_.”

Before Malfoy had decided to call her a harpy, she’d actually been having a lovely time. Unfortunately, the sound of his voice always elicited a sort of knee-jerk reaction from her anger, tipping it to a boil.

Nope, she was fine. She was studying. That was all she’d wanted, right? A place to study.

Not. Angry. At. All.

They were just lucky she didn’t have any tests in an imminent future.

“If_ that _got you talking you can’t be all that mad,” said Malfoy. “I’m disappointed in you, Weasley. I was expecting some fireworks. Some fizzle, maybe some crackle, who knows, even a _ pop _!”

She could practically _see _the smirk in his voice even through five feet of cardboard boxes. Rose felt the heat rising to her cheeks and angrily flicked a page.

Beneath her. It was _beneath _her to rise to such stupid, vulgar, base provocations.

“Are you really angry?” Al demanded. There was a careful tap on the boxes from the other side. “If you aren’t we could unleash… I mean, _ release _ you from your unfortunate imprisonment and take that new coffee machine for a spin.”

“It’ll put some hair on your chest,” Malfoy said, clearly goading her. “Well, some _ more _ anyway.”

“Stop provoking her, you wanker,” Al scolded. “Don’t poke the bear.”

“Look at you getting in the spirit of it!” Malfoy was practically cheering. She was quite certain at this point in their relationship that, just as Dementors feasted on misery, Scorpius Malfoy fed on her boiling blood. “At this rate, the… hmm, what was the _word_? Oh yes, the _bear _will hex your sorry arse too. Not that she needs an excuse to, really, it's all gratuitous violence with her.”

Rose’s wand was in her hand before she knew what she was doing. 

_ Pop_.

_ Crack_.

“_Petrificustotalus_. _ Petrificustotalus_.”

_ Thud _ \- _ thud_.

“Wankers, the both of you.” 

Rose purposely stepped over Malfoy’s limp body, his face currently mashed against the floor like he so rightly deserved. 

Next to him was Albus Potter, who had somehow managed not to fall on his.

“To think I actually _live _with you now,” Rose spat, glaring at them and shaking her head, her stomach still reeling from her impromptu apparition. “I’m going to get myself that damned coffee now. _ Then _ I’m going to set up my study. _ Then _ I’m going to study in said study.”

She paused and gave Malfoy’s face a nudge so he would actually see her in all her red-faced, wild-eyed anger.

“Only _then_, when and _if _ I damned well please, will I come back and grace your sorry arses with a Reparifor. So you can take that fucking time to carve this moment into your diminutive brains so it never... happens... again.”

There was a small silence as she glared at them. One last time, just to appreciate the inherent justice to it.

“_Asswipes_.”

Rose stomped away (indulging in what she was aware was a perfect impersonation of her dad) and walked over to the hallway, then to the corridor and finally the kitchen. 

The promised coffee machine was laying there in all its glory and Rose stampeded all the way to it, muttering curses under her breath about ‘buggering wankers’ and ‘limits’. She then poured herself a cup and sat up onto the kitchen counter, angrily stirring it.

Really, there had to be some sort of rule, they couldn’t just go around annoying her for the sake of it. And that _stupid _wall!

Rose let out a frustrated chuckle and sipped her coffee, cursing to no one in particular at how hot it was, how despicably good it tasted and how childish prats shouldn't be allowed loose in the world. 

After a few minutes of this, as her heart rate and breathing steadied, Rose finally glanced over at the hallway and frowned. 

She knew what they were when she’d agreed to move it. She hadn’t expected them to start _before _they'd even moved, but she’d predicted at least one or two house-wide duels. Maybe a few broken vases, perhaps even one or two minor injuries.

Urgh, maybe she had overreacted a smidge. But they’d promised--

They'd promised alright, but since when did she believe anything that either Al or, for that matter, Malfoy said?

And she had to admit, the stupid wall was kind of... funny.

Rose hopped down to the floor and sighed. The red hot anger she'd felt less than a minute ago had already dissipated, washed away as it inevitably did.

In the aftermath of that anger, what was left inside her was the teeniest, tiniest bit of remorse.

_ Bugger_.

Best get it over with.

She walked all the way to the living room, sipping her coffee and wondering whether it wouldn’t be productive to maybe let them simmer on it for a while longer. Unfortunately, there was a sense of guilt building inside her that was smothering any and all plans she might have of teaching those two a lesson.

She nudged Scorpius’ body with her foot, flipping him around so he was facing upwards. 

“You _idiot_,” she sputtered, crouching down next to them. “You two are _idiots_. This shit better not happen again.”

She cast two quick Reparifors, her face betraying only a hint of the anxiety she felt, before clicking her heels and leaving the two idiots to their defrosting. 

By the time she returned with two glasses of water, the two were sitting and also… unusually quiet. Wordlessly, she handed each of them a glass and took a seat on the floor next to Al, stubbornly avoiding looking them in the face.

Silence. Absolute silence. 

_ Offended _silence it seemed.

“I’m fucking sorry, alright?” 

Why was she even apologising? They were wankers. 

Inordinately quiet wankers, but wankers all the same.

“I, Rose Ginevra Granger Weasley am _ sorry_.”

Still nothing. None of them was saying a word, the two of them pointedly ignoring her.

“I’ll leave the buggering wand at the door, it won’t happen again.”

Silence still.

Ten seconds passed.

Twenty.

Thirty.

When she was all but ready to start shaking them, she heard a _ snigger_: Malfoy was _laughing_. She was about to protest when a snort from her left indicated that Al was… _ also _ laughing.

“Calm down, Weasley,” Scorpius drawled, with an impossible smirk on his face. He glanced at the grandfather clock and nudged Al’s foot with his own. “You, mate, owe me a fiver.”

Al groaned. “Really, Rose, you couldn’t have waited for _ five _ more minutes?” He fished into his pockets to extract a couple of gold coins which he slapped onto Malfoy’s outstretched hand with a look of disgust. “I trusted you. I really, truly believed--”

“Whereas I bet that you had absolutely no self-restraint. Zero, zilch, _ nada_.” Malfoy set the jingling coins on his hand in a pile next to him. “Guess who won?”

“You two bet on how long it would take me to get mad?!”

“Not 'get mad',” Malfoy tutted, shaking his head. “How long it’d take for you to actually _ hex us_, which is an actual, empirical measurement, whereas your chronic temper tantrums aren’t measurable at _ all_.”

Rose buried her face on her hands and breathed in slowly.

_ Idiots_. She was living with _idiots_.

“Not that you were helping, really,” Malfoy complained at Al. “Treating her with kid gloves, like that. I had to put in all the work myself.”

“Well it _was _close,” Al said. “I think the idea of leaving the wand at the door might not be a bad one, though.”

Rose sputtered indignantly. “Really? Just me?! What--”

“I second the motion,” Malfoy chimed in, prodding her leg with his toe and grinning madly. 

“_Not _just her,” Al said critically. “You too.”

“Says the person with the deadly array of unsanctioned hexes.” Scorp gave a mock shudder. “Is that how you want us to live, in _fear_? I shudder to think--” 

Rose covered her mouth and tried to suppress her laughter.

“I’ll leave mine _too_,” Al interrupted, lifting his hands in surrender, “in the interest of _fairness_. Unless they’re needed - and not for hexing purposes - wands stay down.”

“Seems fair then.” Malfoy shrugged. “That way _she _can’t cause us bodily harm and yet we’ll _still _be able to hurt her with our words. Win-win.”

“Oh_, sod off_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Updated as of Oct 6 2020


	3. Deliciously Shallow Pools

**November 5th, 2027**

Scorpius stalked out of the Floo, tossed his bag onto the nearest corner, and made a beeline for the kitchen. 

“Rough day?” Al asked from the spot on the couch where he was currently sprawled. “You’re acting like the world owes you money.” 

“Oh, _ bugger off_.” 

And, incidentally, the world did owe him money. It was the 5th -_ the 5th_! - and Puddlemere’s payment _still _hadn’t made it to his account. 

_ If that stupid woman deigned to actually do her job instead of spending her days chattering about her grandchildren with any random visitor -- _

He flicked his wand and multiple cabinets opened at once, spitting out their insides. 

_ And she always acted like it was a personal offence to ask about it, ‘how dare he inquire about his living’?! _

Around him flurried ingredients, pans, mixing bowls, floating in an over-dramatic storm of anger that was equal measures unnecessary and satisfying. 

A white puff escaped the bag of flour, adding to the theatrical sheen of the situation and, for a second there, Scorp felt a very strong inclination to laugh at himself. 

For a second there, all was good - until Scorpius remembered that theoretically he wasn’t _supposed _to use magic.

Bloody rules.

Bloody Rose Weasley.

Bloody _ Puddlemere_.

Slowly, he floated down the ingredients to the island. 

Silently, he cursed the entire world.

* * *

“Albus, my boy, you need to _ see _this!”

How ominous. 

Al peered questioningly at Rose. After all the fuss around her office, something akin to claustrophobia had set in and one day she’d instead claimed the table next to the fireplace as her own. Seamlessly and quietly, as if hoping nobody would notice. Except it was hard _not_ to, what with the mountains of books piled high on top of it.

He still hadn't had the chance to poke fun at her for it… but then again she wasn't going anywhere.

He had all the time in the world.

“He’s _ your _ pet.” Rose shrugged. “If he shits the carpet, it’s your business, not mine.”

“Does it have to be now?” Al shouted back at Scorpius, sticking a finger between the pages of his book.

“Yes, it has to be _ now_!”

Translation: no, it didn’t have to be ‘now’ and Scorp was being an over-dramatic princess.

Al sniggered, getting up to his feet and crying back, "Now-now or now in five minutes?" just for the sake of it.

"_Now_!"

Rose scowled. "You know I didn't sign up for the two of you flirt-yelling at each other. I had plenty of that at home."

"It does sound like you made a terrible decision, doesn't it?" Al asked sweetly. "Whatever were you thinking?"

"Bog off," she said, though not unkindly. "And tell your wife to shut up."

Merlin, he'd missed her.

"Gladly."

Al scampered all the way to the kitchen, a small spring in his step. When he opened the door, he was assaulted with... warmth. The smell of cinnamon and apples wafted towards him, smacking him on the face with delicious goodness.

"What in the _ world_?!"

Visions of the Burrow and Nan's kitchen slid through his mind eye and Al had to shake himself back to reality.

Their previously overlooked kitchen was bustling with life and, at the centre of it all, was none other than Scorpius Malfoy, his hair all mussed up and the left side of his face covered in a thin layer of flour.

He was proudly setting down a tray of what looked like malformed pastry fetuses on top of the island.

"You're--"

"Cooking, yes," Scorp said dismissively. "Get over it and try one of these."

Al looked dubiously at the tray that Scorp had inched toward him.

"That's not cooking," he said slowly. "That's _ baking_."

Not that it was a surprise, really. Scorp had always suffered from appalling domesticity. 

Whenever his potions cauldron had needed a good scrub back at Hogwarts, provoking Scorp until he was in a right strop had always been the best way of going about it. Once after a particularly nasty fight in the fourth year, Scorp had cleaned his way through every cauldron in the dungeon. Everyone had assumed he’d been in detention.

Al, however, knew the sick truth: Scorp _angry-cleaned_.

That, however, didn’t explain _this_. _ This _was new.

"I spent _ years _ acting as your guinea pig." Scorp gave the tray another imperious nudge. "It's payback time."

Fair was fair. Scorp had suffered through a lot in their school days, most notably during Sixth Year when Al had finally been allowed access to the Restricted Section of the library.

Though, honestly, looking at the _things_ resting on the tray, maybe he should ask Scorp to hex him and call it a day.

"What are they even?"

Scorp’s eyebrows furrowed. “Apple tarts, obviously.”

There was absolutely no resemblance between the grotesque little pastries and the picture on the recipe book that Scorp was showing him.

Al gaped. Once, twice, three times over before he could finally articulate the complex cocktail of emotions he was currently experiencing. 

Confusion. Shock. The sincere desire to mock his best friend till kingdom come.

It was all so deliciously… _ odd_.

“Merlin, _ you’re _a tart,” Al said, finally shaking himself back to reality. “Are you _ ill_?”

Doubtful. When Scorp had stomped through to the kitchen, Al had just figured, great, now he wouldn’t have to do the dishes. And the dishes were, in fact, clean, but this was a whole new level. 

“I’m _fine_,” Scorp said, sniffing disdainfully. “Stop being a wanker and try them.”

“You’re _ baking, _mate.”

From the living room came a loud, incredulous cry. “Malfoy’s _what_?!” 

There was the patter of quick steps and a dishevelled Rose peered into the kitchen, a delighted look on her face. Her eyes darted from the pastries to Scorp’s flour-covered face and she took a single deep breath, savouring the moment… before letting out a small whimper. She had to brace herself against the door frame for support, a muffled chuckle threatening to escape her. 

“He’s a doppelganger,” she said, trying to bite down a laugh. “It’s the only reasonable explanation.”

Everything inside Al softened as he watched his cousin’s shaking shoulders. Rose had barely smiled, much less laughed since she’d left Hogwarts and applied to St Mungo’s. She’d never been particularly relaxed, even in their school days, but he’d witnessed her slipping further and further into herself, into that pit of despair where he couldn’t reach her.

_ This _was why. It made ambushing her and guilting her into moving with him worth it.

Whoever said you couldn’t have your cake and eat it too simply wasn’t properly motivated.

“We need a way to test it,” Al said, taking a step back and lifting a protective arm to shield her from Scorpius, The Alleged Doppelganger. 

“Quick, Malfoy, say something snide!”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Scorp said drily, removing one of his mittens and throwing it at them. “Did you stay up all night thinking that one up?”

“It _does _sound like him,” Al said, eyes narrowing.

“I say we let the real one die and keep the baking clone,” Rose said, ducking under his arm and sashaying toward the tray. She gave one of the ugly tarts a little tentative poke. “I think he’s malfunctioning, though.”

Scorp scoffed. “You’re absolutely perfect,” he said to the pastries, pulling them protectively toward him. “Don’t listen to the crazy woman, she knows not what she says.”

Al was torn between being supportive and laughing his arse off. Scorp was starting to look defensive; it would be cruel to taunt him for something that Al could capitalise from in the future. They should nurture it, let it grow, have Scorp bake on a regular basis until he sneezed and cupcakes fell off him…

Rose’s face was twitching, lips firmly pursed together as she tried to restrain herself. Al himself was having a hard time keeping it in.

“Oh, Merlin,” Scorp said, rolling his eyes. “Just let it out before the two of you explode.”

Laughing it was. 

_ Then _they could nurture it.

Rose inched toward him and placed an arm over his shoulder, both of them immediately falling headfirst into hysterics and semi-incoherent babbling. 

“He's wearing mittens, Al, _ mittens_!”

“Have you seen his face, for goodness’ sake, flour all over--”

“HE WAS TALKING TO THEM!”

Rose was wheezing and every time she looked at Scorpius she’d sputter and double over once again. Al himself was having a hard time keeping a straight face, mostly because Rose’s laughter was infectious. 

It took them a solid minute of chortling before they finally regained their senses. 

“You done?” Scorp rested his cheek on his knuckles. “Can we move on?”

Rose had to hold onto the counter for support. “If you want to quit your half-baked Quidditch career and focus on this instead, we fully support you.”

Al snorted and nodded gravely. “It would _ bake _ my day if you followed your heart.”

“Cute.” Scorp sniggered condescendingly. “Aren’t you two a riot?” 

“I _ loaf _ you too,” Rose said, lips shaking. 

“_Bakers _ gonna _ bake_,” Al chimed in, shrugging. “What you gonna do.”

“Don’t quit your day jobs just yet, guys.” 

“Shut up, baking puns are funny.” Rose’s eyes widened with joy and she continued, “Or should I say… baking _ buns_.”

Al pressed his forehead against his hand, mouth quivering. “_Scone-a _ be hard to top that.”

“Did you _ knead _to ruin it?”

“_Donut _ judge me.”

“I thought you’d run out eventually,” Scorp mumbled, raising his eyes heavenward, “and yet here we are.”

“_Muffin _ you can do to stop us,” Al said, taking a seat next to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “Should we try them now?”

“You two are… weir_doughs_.”

Scorp had actually paused for effect, the _ nerd_.

And that was when Rose and him lost it, all over again. 

“That one really took the cake,” Al said, wiping a small tear off the corner of his eye. “Oh, Merlin, why?”

Rose had reached out for one of the pastries, still quaking with laughter. Al watched with fascination as she almost choked on the bite she’d taken, coughing until she could breathe again while laughing all through it…

And then she stopped. And she chewed, quietly. And then she took another bite. And another.

Al took one of his own and, under Scorp’s smug look, chomped down on it and understood perfectly why Rose had shut her pie hole.

They were surprisingly good.

“Wow,” Rose said, breaking the silence. “Much as I hate to admit it--”

She didn’t admit to anything, of course. Because she was Rose and Rose Weasley did not dole out compliments to Scorpius Malfoy. If the look on Scorp’s face was any indication though, she didn’t actually _need _to say anything. 

Not when she kept shovelling tarts in her face like the world was about to end.

“Surprisingly good, mate,” Al said, following suit. “Presentation needs work but the flavour is there alright.”

Scorp shook his head disapprovingly. “You two need to chew with your mouths closed.”

Rose made a great show of showing her what was in her mouth and Scorp groaned, pulling two plates from the nearest cupboards.

“You two are savages.”

“Al’s right though,” Rose said, ignoring the plate Scorp had just placed in front of her. Apparently, her tart eating M.O. was transferring pastries from the tray directly into her mouth, chewing like she hadn’t seen food in days - which, knowing her, might be true - and then shaking off every bit of pastry that happened to fall on her like a wet dog. 

Her hair was a veritable warzone of comestible bits. If you tried hard enough, you could probably assemble a full tart off them.

“They look like shit but are actually pretty decent on the inside,” Rose continued, taking another, thoughtful bite. “The opposite of you, really.”

“You are, of course, aware that you just called Scorp pretty.” 

He leaned back and watched as Scorp, who had been grumbling about something about eating cereal out of glasses, perked up. Rose herself had been steadily eating her weight in tarts and had suddenly grown quiet, her cheeks flushed. 

“Well, shit.” She slanted a calculating look at the blonde boy, as if seeing him for the first time. “I guess. He’s almost as pretty on the outside as he’s rotten inside.”

What an interesting, unexpected development. This day just kept getting odder.

Al’s eyebrows furrowed and he kept silent, aware that he was witnessing one of those weird lifetime moments where you couldn’t breathe or the manticore cubs would disband.

“I never knew you were _that _attracted to me,” Scorp said blythely.

“S’true.” Rose shrugged, throwing him an appreciative once-over. “I guess the universe really is fair. You’re like a poisonous plant.”

“You think I’m _ fit_.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Rose sniggered. “You’re too blonde for me. Pasty at that.”

And just like that, they were bickering once again, defaulting to the status quo. Throwing sideswipe after sideswipe at each other, both so engrossed in their little feud that he was all but forgotten.

“Ah, but you see, they say blondes have _ all _ the fun, whereas swotty redheads don’t know what fun _ means _.”

Al’s heart twinged. _ Not yet_, it said quietly. _ Not yet_.

Yesterday he’d proposed spellotaping Rose’s books to the ceiling and Scorp had actually said ‘no’ and something about kicking her when she was down. Might've just been because he was busy reading but still, it indicated... concern. Empathy.

Couldn't have them empathising now, could he?

“It’s a shallow pool you’re swimming in there, Malfoy. _ Do _ try not to hurt yourself.”

The waters kept mixing. Every passing day he could feel it, the small, subtle ways with which they adapted to each other. 

He still wasn’t ready for it.

_ Not. Yet. _

“A very shallow, _ lush _pool. I’d invite you in, but we don’t fancy harpies.”

He got up to his feet and placed an arm around Scorp’s shoulder. “Gorgeous cake, mate,” he said, throwing a bucket of cold water over whatever _this _was. “Got to say I’m impressed.”

Scorp peeled his eyes from Rose and looked up at him. “_Really_?”

Picking a metaphorical palm leaf and fanning Scorp’s ego with it was like the Wingardium Leviosa of misdirection. 

Too easy. 

“Really,” Al said with a sweet smile. “You should do it more often.”

_ Not yet. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated as of 14/10/2020


	4. Insomnia, you fickle bitch

**November 20th, 2027**

Sleep wasn’t something that came naturally to Rose Weasley. Most nights she’d just toss and turn and end up staring at the ceiling until she thought she might go mad from it.

Sometimes, in the very dead of night, she wondered if she already was.

If you considered it from an optimistic point of view, the extra time was a perk. Unfortunately, sleeplessness also came with a whole array of nasty side effects, ranging from your garden variety nausea to just plain... daftness, for lack of a better term.

Exam season was when she slept best, exhausted to the point where she would crumple into a coma on the nearest available surface, her body giving out and slipping out of consciousness whenever it had a chance.

Otherwise, she was unable to close her eyes without getting haunted by everything she should be doing instead.

Like now. Right now she should be prepping rounds and catching up on Mr Leavensby’s chart. She should be doing any number of things and instead here she was, too tired to even move.

Unfortunately, you could only get so far on will power, caffeine and anxiety.

Insomnia you fickle _bitch_.

She glared at the glass of warm milk she was holding. _Useless_.

She loved it when people asked, ‘Have you tried a sleeping draught?’.

Why, how insightful of them! How utterly brilliant in its simplicity! How had she _never_ thought of that before?

No, _of course_ she hadn't. She hadn't self-medicated _at all_.

She hadn't brewed every single potion in every single book available. She hadn't specially imported Eldritch Whorlwood from Ukraine and slathered it all over her forehead. She hadn't poached, boiled, fried, grilled and every single other form of cooking Orticusp. She hadn't tried every diet fad, every meditation technique.

Nope. Not once.

It was _insulting_.

Sodding warm milk. And sodding people.

Honestly, it was rubbish. It was --

“Can’t sleep?”

Rose listlessly lifted her cheek from the cold island counter to slant a look at Al. He was still half asleep and slightly dazed, but he didn't look particularly surprised at finding her in the kitchen at three in the morning, clutching a glass of warm milk for dear life.

“M’too tired to sleep,” she grumbled, letting her face fall flat again and closing her eyes again.

It might sound contradictory but it was what it _felt_ like and Rose was far too exhausted to expound on it.

"Is it still the house?" He yawned, opening the fridge and grabbing a glass of milk for himself. He arched an eyebrow at the wand next to her on the table but apparently decided not to comment on it.

“It _creaks_ wrong,” Rose grumbled, throwing a spiteful look at the walls. “The traffic outside is _wrong_. S’all wrong. Ergo, no sleep.”

Medically speaking, she was aware that at least _some_ of her time must have been spent sleeping, seamlessly slipping in and out of consciousness. Practically, however, the reason she _knew _she was getting some sleep was that she kept waking up in a panic, not knowing where the hell she was.

"Warm this up for me, will you?" Al asked.

"Sure." She pointed her wand at his glass, mumbling a quick heating spell. A few strands of warmth erupted from it, stirring the cup. "Can't work a stove," she said, giving him a little apologetic shrug and setting the wand down.

Albus was rummaging through the contents of their cupboard until he triumphantly removed from it a bag of chocolate biscuits which he tossed at the table.

"I know." He sat on the nearest chair and dunked a biscuit into his milk. "Plus, it's three in the morning. I doubt you're lying there in wait trying to surprise-hex us."

"Oh, no,” Rose said with a wan smile, “I do this every night in the off-chance Malfoy will show up."

"You could claim self-defence."

"That's the dream."

Al dangled a biscuit in front of her eyes and Rose’s stomach snarled at him in response.

She couldn’t quite tell if it was doing it out of nausea or hunger. Purely from a functional point of view, considering she hadn’t eaten anything in… _thirteen hours_, it was probably the latter.

Ignoring her stomach’s protests, Rose took it, wordlessly shovelling it into her mouth, grimacing as she swallowed.

No, wait, it was hunger. _Definitely_ hunger.

Al angled the bag toward her with an eye-roll and she took another, chomping it and washing it down with a sip of milk and repeating the process until her stomach stopped its nagging.

Man, this was the life. The anxious, depressed, sleep-deprived life.

They sat in silent companionship, each quietly drinking their milk and munching on their biscuits, their arms resting together.

For the first time since the move, Rose felt... comforted. _Comfortable_.

"Why are _you_ awake?" she asked suddenly. “Alarm malfunction?”

It was a reasonable question. Unlike her, Albus slept like the dead.

On one particular occasion back at the Potter household, part of the ceiling plaster had actually fallen on him. He hadn't even noticed until he woke up and noticed all the blood.

He had taken to creating various small spells to wake himself up every morning, mounting in loudness and obnoxiousness. Al’s ‘nasty little spells’ as people had called them had been the reason Gringotts had snapped him up for their Curse Department before he’d even finished his N.E.W.T.s.

His latest stripped felons buck naked and tattooed "I tried to steal from Gringotts but all I got was this lousy tattoo" on their arses.

"Woke up," he said quietly. “Couldn’t fall asleep again.”

"Oh."

Zara Spencer by any other name would still be a right cow. According to Malfoy, Al was now _dreaming_ about her, which was a rather unexpected and unpleasant development. No wonder he couldn’t move on. Or maybe he was dreaming about her _because_ he couldn’t move on.

The point was, _he wasn’t moving on_.

At first, it had been denial. After a year they had finally gotten down to anger. At this rate, they would be at acceptance in, what, five years?

In her opinion, anger had been a marked improvement. It meant he didn't mope around, just occasionally set fire to any old belongings of hers he happened upon or just miscellaneous items that reminded him of her.

The potted Cave Star Rose had brought with her on the move, for example, had met its demise by defenestration.

Rose slipped a hand on the crook of his arm and waited patiently, giving him a supportive tug.

"And how are _you_ doing?" he asked, his usually easy grin strained. “Sick of us yet?”

Deflection was, after all, Albus Potter’s second favourite hobby.

She grinned back trying to dial down the pity in her eyes. "I hate you both." She gave his hand an affectionate tug. "But I love you more."

"Does that mean you're not already planning to move out? I must be out of my game."

"You're enough of a pest as is." She tilted her chin toward the discarded wand, meaning clear. "Don't tempt me."

"This is why we have rules," Al snorted. "What about Scorpius?"

_Urghhhh_.

Rose scowled. "What about him?"

"Do you hate him?" Al rested his cheek on his hand, eyes earnest. “Most importantly, do you hate me for making you move with him?”

"Yes and yes. Fine, no, he’s not being a _complete_ prat lately." Rose narrowed her eyes. When the hell had that happened? "Plus, every misshapen muffin makes him the slightest bit more tolerable."

Al was grinning now. "I knew you'd love him once you got to know him better."

"I said he was _tolerable_." She raised her hands in a gesture of defiance. "My life would _still_ be infinitely better if I didn’t have to look at his smug face every day."

“Even if it is a pretty face?”

Al quirked an eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m too tired to get in on this," she grumbled, removing her hand from his arm. "Talk about something else. How's work?"

Work. How grown-up.

His eyes brightened up for a second. "Today I cracked open a vault that had been locked for two hundred years.”

“Boring.” Rose rolled her eyes. “I swear to Merlin your job --”

“There was someone inside it," Al said smugly. “Or what _remained_ of someone, anyway.”

"_What_?!"

Al looked almost as delighted as she felt. "Auror Department is working on an ID." He shifted on his seat, turning to face her. "The running theory is that someone purposefully locked them inside. A jilted lover, perhaps."

His enthusiasm nearly made him knock down his glass.

"How awful!" Rose grabbed his glass and relocated it a few inches away, safe from Albus' flailing hands. “Awful, but, y’know, in a _great_, murder-y way.”

"The less… erm… romantic running theory," Albus continued, pausing for effect, "is that a perp was caught by the vault and it didn't let him out."

Rose shook her head. "I like the first one better."

“They do like to spoil any fun with _logic_, yes." He rested his chin on his hand and narrowed his eyes at her. "How's St. Mungo's treating _you_?"

"Well, today I chatted with Mrs Wallace about her cats for about ten minutes, then fed her some soup for five and then spent the remaining three hours and forty-five minutes doing paperwork." She sniggered. "The glamorous life of a Healer."

"Aren't you supposed to be, I don't know, healing the sick or something?"

"Are you crazy?" She looked at him as if she genuinely thought he was. "They don't trust us around actual people yet. Hell, _I_ wouldn't trust me around actual people. Jesse Boot caught a whiff of blood the other day and threw up his lunch."

"Jesse Boot always was a pansy."

Accurate, but beside the point.

Rose snorted. "_You_ try being around dying people all day, see what that does to your appetite."

"I found a 200-year-old decaying _corpse_ today, Rose,” Al deadpanned. “And I asked for _seconds_ at lunch."

"Weird flex but okay, mate." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Either way, it's _normal_. It’s the first year, you can’t expect us all to just jump in and cure Mortis Breath. We have rounds, we do some scut work and then there’s... paperwork."

Paperwork, at least, was _safe_. Nobody had ever died from doing paperwork.

"Fess up, you love it. Nothing like four hours of paperwork to brighten up your day," Al sneered. “Nerd.”

"Three hours forty-five minutes."

"Same shit, different smell." He paused, a lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "They're wasting your skills."

Rose snorted. “_What_ skills?”

No, truly, _what_ skills? She’d really like to know.

She was supposed to pick a Healing Speciality by the end of the year and submit an official research proposal for her Fifth Year Project. She’d somehow gotten through her midterms unscathed and already another round of exams was creeping up in the horizon.

At this point, Rose wouldn’t be surprised if her anxiety took on physical form and clobbered her over the head. Much like Rose herself, said anxiety was an over-achiever and, unlike Rose, it had in fact been making a lot of headway in the past years.

Most notably, it had recently shacked up with insomnia and the two of them were both being very, _very_ productive at making her life miserable.

“Rose…” Al started in a reproachful tone. “Come on. You’re an incredibly talented witch.”

Yes, sure, but no one had ever labelled _her_ The Brightest Witch of Their Generation. That title was usually reserved for the sodden little asswipe currently sitting right next to her.

Rose let out an angry sniffle. “Oh, _bugger off_. Not all of us instantly succeed at everything. In fact, most of us--”

"You'll be _fine_, Rose," he said, rolling his eyes. "Eat a goddamned biscuit and swallow all that anxiety before it spreads."

She did. Albus got up from his seat and opened the fridge door. His hand reached out to grab the milk carton… and then he stopped and added a thoughtful, “And I _don’t_ succeed at everything.”

Fucking Zara.

“At everything that matters, you do,” Rose said quietly. “If you didn’t succeed, it probably didn’t _matter_.”

“You know I still _miss_ her?” Al let out a bitter chuckle into the fridge. “Seriously, what special breed of chump am I?”

The kind who had never actually _failed_ at anything before. Which meant he hadn’t the first idea of how to pick himself up, dust himself off and move the hell on.

Rose's hands balled into fists and she found herself gritting her teeth. "Of course you do, love." Her countenance relaxed, but her nails dug deep into her flesh. "She was a big part of your life."

Zara had been at family dinners, Christmases, christenings. Every holiday, every sodding birthday. The cow had somehow weaselled her way into every tiny corner of his life and pulled him into hers.

And then, one day, with no prior warning… she’d stomped on his little heart and set it aflame.

Like a lovely bonfire of heartbreak.

“I was going to ask her to move in with me, y’know.”

Rose hadn’t. She really, truly hadn’t. Possibly because he hadn’t actually _told_ her.

Not that it would have changed anything. No one had seen it coming.

Her nails drew blood. "Did you ask her?" She opened her hands, anger and shock finally flowing freely through her. “Or…”

“Didn’t get to.”

Thank Merlin. At least she’d dumped him before the fact, not after.

"That's… awful." It was horrendous. It was monstrous. But what scared Rose the most was that he hadn't told _her_. "Does Malfoy know?"

"He does."

Albus turned to face her, milk carton in hand, a patently fake grin on his face. He poured more milk into their two glasses.

Functioning on auto-pilot, Rose grabbed her wand and cast a warming spell on them. Her eyes were wide, mouth hanging slightly aghast. "Why…" She stopped herself mid-sentence and schooled her features. "Why didn't you tell _me_?"

"I tried to."

Oh. Oh _no_.

It had been during that particularly jarring semester when she had barely had the time to breathe. She now realized that Albus had been really low on her priorities, perhaps even unforgivably low.

"I could've made the time."

But she was lying. And she knew that he knew that she was lying.

"You wouldn't have,” he said with a small snort. “You couldn’t have.”

He didn’t sound particularly fazed. She’d seen him more worked up about the weather.

But bugger, he’d needed her. And she hadn't been there. By all accounts, he _should_ be angrier.

"You had Malfoy and I --"

Albus snorted disdainfully. "Whenever I try to complain to Scorp about my problems, he feels like the best solution is to talk it through until it makes sense." His nose crinkled with disgust. "I just wanted the wanker to shut the hell up about it."

"I'm really sorry. I am."

She _was_ sorry. Yet her most pressing emotion right now was anger.

Buggering Zara.

Buggering Malfoy for not telling her.

Mostly, she was angry at herself.

"I didn't think it was outrageous then and I certainly don't now," he mused, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. "I’m just saying."

“You could have told me,” she complained. “How the hell could I know? I don’t _guess_.”

“Well, obviously you don’t.” Al rolled his eyes. "You have your head so far up your ass you can't see anything but your own shit."

“What a terribly vivid and disgusting image,” Rose said, grimacing.

“Also accurate. When's the last time you talked to Hugo?"

This had turned from Albus pouring his feelings to her to Albus scolding her. Both were about as common as a dragon sighting in Diagon Alley.

Al didn’t intervene. She could count the number of times he’d given her shit in one hand, and she’d still have enough fingers to hold a wand.

"Since we moved probably. But Hugo doesn't _need_ me."

She disliked it immensely when people gave her crap about her inability to keep in touch when things got difficult.

Especially when they were fundamentally right.

"If you really believe that, you're more of an idiot than I took you for."

"I don't. It's just… easier."

His countenance softened. She could feel him pitying her.

It was awful.

"Just call the bloke. And call your parents while you're at it." Albus dunked four of his biscuits into his glass, pointedly staring at her. "Better yet, go visit."

"I will."

She was lying of course. She figured he knew it too.

There was a pause in which both stubbornly avoided meeting each other's eyes.

Milk was consumed, biscuits destroyed.

After a few minutes, Rose took a page from Al’s book and chose to deflect.

"I can't believe I didn't know you were going to ask her to move in with you. I mean, I knew you were going to, I just didn't know you were… _going to_."

Cruel? Maybe, but she didn’t know when Al would be feeling up for talking about it again.

Knowing him, probably never.

He seemed defensive for a second and then his shoulders slumped with defeat. "Yeah, it was shit." Al rolled his eyes. “I had it all sorted out. Was going to do it on her birthday. Candles, dinner, have Scorp fly by with a banner saying ‘will you move in with me’..”

Rose sniggered. “I bet he loved that.”

“Oh, yes, he was thrilled.” Al snorted, rolling his eyes. “And anyway, it never happened."

"Al…" She grabbed his arm and squeezed it gently. "You _will_ find someone."

Someone better. Someone who wouldn't break his heart… or she'd break their legs.

"I know. Supposedly I'm a catch." His tone was sarcastic and bitter. "Every single woman that works at Gringotts has told me so."

"Why don't you date one of them?"

It was a legitimate question. Some of the women Albus worked with had legs as long as Rose was tall. She waited for Albus' answer, head tilted to the side.

"I don't want to," he finally said, shrugging. “I’m sure they’re all lovely, just… not for me.”

“You could go on the pull, do a little window shopping,” Rose said, a small smile on her face. “Take Malfoy with you. He’s better looking so he can lure them in. Then the second he opens his mouth and they realise he’s a wanker, you’ll get them all to yourself.”

Al rolled his eyes. “You’ve put some serious thought into this.”

“I have,” Rose said, corner of her lip curling into a smirk. “Isn’t the honey-trap potential why you’re still friends with him? Because I legit can’t think of any other reason.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Al sniggered. “And I’m not going to spend my nights chatting up random birds.”

"Why not?"

"Rose, she was _it_." Albus' tone was flat as if he was just stating the obvious. "There’s not going to be another."

Of all the sodding rubbish out of Al’s mouth, this one definitely took the prize.

"Maybe she was just a dud," Rose said carefully. “No one who hurt you as much as she did--”

"Listen, I know you don’t _get_ it." Albus just stared at her, anger obvious. "You can’t. You can’t even _imagine_. For six years I was really_, really_ happy and now it’s just going downhill. Why the hell would I _bother _shopping around when I _know_ for a fact that there’s no possible replacement?”

She wasn’t entirely sure if she should give him a smack or a hug.

After all this time he _still_ couldn’t hear anything against her. Rose knew for a _fact_ that if Zara Spencer walked through that door right now, he would take her back without blinking.

"You really are a romantic ponce," she scolded. "Plenty of people have amazing love affairs that fall apart. Plenty of people are madly in love and they end up divorced. Plenty--"

Al rolled his eyes. "Rose, you're Scorpiusing. Cut it out."

Well, shit. She was.

"How horribly _basic_ of me," she said, ignoring her baser instincts that told her to scream ‘let it go’ at him. "Do you want a hug?"

"Yes, please."

She plopped out of her seat and opened her arms wide, waiting from him to meet her halfway. He did just so, his tall frame dwarfing hers as he held her tight.

"I'll be here," she promised. "I'll never leave you to your lonesome again. Malfoy’s a useless piece of dung." She nuzzled into his sweater. "You have my permission to pester me whenever..." She felt the need to correct herself, reason trampling all over her best intentions. "Well, maybe not whenever, but when you feel like you really, really, _really_ need a chat."

"That was my evil plan all along." Al supported his chin on her head. "Do you want me to soundproof your room?"

"I'd really like that,” Rose said, sighing into him. “Haven’t been able to sleep properly in days."

She could feel him chuckling, his laughter shaking the pair of them.

"I can give you a concussion if you’re keen,” Al offered. “Unconscious counts as sleep, right?"

Ah, yes, threatening her with violence.

He’d be alright.

"As tempting as the offer is, just stick to the soundproofing." She let go of him and her lips tightened. "_Don't_ muck it up. The last time I ended up locked in a closet where you somehow made it rain."

"Oooh, I remember that." Albus was the picture of childish joy. "Still have no idea how it happened. I’ve been trying to recreate it for years."

And then, like the child he was, he yawned, warm milk and biscuits kicking in.

Rose stood on her toes and ruffled his already dishevelled hair. "You should go back to sleep. I'm staying a little longer."

"'Night, Rosie."

"Night, love."

When Albus left for his room, Rose didn't notice the creaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated as of Oct 20 2020


	5. A Faint Attempt at Financial Awareness

**November 29th, 2027**

It was just a little while until the crack of dawn.

Scorpius Malfoy's bedroom door opened and from it emerged the man himself. He donned his Puddlemere United sweater with pride, navy blue in stark contrast with his pale skin and whiteish blond hair. Yawning, he picked up his gloves from whence they hung and popped them carelessly into his sports bag with the rest of his gear.

The first ray of sunshine shone through the windows, marking that single moment of joyful quiet before Wizarding London woke up.

He felt alive.

Dropping the bag outside his door like he did every single morning, he made his way to the kitchen. As was customary he fixed himself a cup of tea and picked up the paper that his owl Iccarus had dropped on the isle. From there he waltzed, as one does, to the living room.

Kitchen. Tea. Living Room. Crosswords. _Routine_.

Routine made the world go around. It was mindless comfort, salutary acquaintance. It made sense.

Sometimes, however, there was a glitch... like Rose Weasley's blue gaze meeting his from across the room.

He found her sitting at her usual spot close to the fireplace, papers and books sprawled across the tabletop. For someone who had been so keen on having her own office, she spent an inordinate amount of her time out here, ruling over her disorganized little domain. Any semblance of order was completely lost to the unwitting observer. He, however, wasn't unwitting. In fact, he suspected that all the unruly elements were mapped out somewhere in that unfairly brilliant mind of hers.

Scorpius took in her sunken eyes and the dark shadows encircling them. He noted how her oversized pajamas clung from her lean frame. For what seemed like the thousandth time since they had moved, he wondered whether she'd lost weight. She struck him as being tired, _frail_ even.

Never in his life had he associated the walking, talking hurricane that was Rose Weasley with the word 'frail' before.

Then there was the fact that she never seemed to sleep, _ever_. If she did, it was erratic, much like her feeding patterns, which were inconsistent at best. For someone with such an organized brain she led a remarkably chaotic existence.

Rose Weasley was the embodiment of anarchy, wrapped up in a pretty, unassuming red-headed package. Anarchy with a generous splash of nitpicking, the very oddest of combinations.

It drove him mad. _She_ drove him mad.

"Well good _morning_, Weasley," he chimed, sarcasm painting his words. "The sun is almost up. You should go back to your coffin, lest you burst into flames."

Yes, go to sleep you batshit inane woman. And _eat_ something for goodness' sake.

She smiled at him. Why, oh _why,_ was she smiling at him?

"Glad I catch you, Malfoy," she retorted in an equally cheerful tone that was in stark contrast with her lifeless posture. "A moment of your precious time?"

Had she been waiting for him to wake up, trying to ambush him? His eyebrows knit together, and he allowed himself a moment to ponder on the unlikely scenario.

_Nah_, she couldn't possibly have. Except of course for the fact that she could and, given the chance, _would_.

This archetype of chaos was just going to waltz into his peaceful morning, into his beloved crossword puzzle and into his precious tea, wasn't she? Yes, and without even trying. He knew it wasn't her fault; fate always made it so that she ended up unnerving him.

"I have practice," he protested, rather futilely. He was perfectly aware that she would never believe him. For one, it was far too early. Secondly, he had a cup of tea and a paper in his hand that he intended to thoroughly enjoy before said practice. And he'd be damned if he was going to allow her to ruin it for him.

"Not for the next hour and a half-ish you don't."

She was right obviously. Accurate even. "Stalking me now?" he inquired, lopsided smirk growing against his better judgement. "I'm flattered, Weasley."

"Yeah, you wish," she sniggered, blue eyes retreating to the paper on which she had been previously writing. "For some reason I can't fathom, your joke of a schedule is posted on our fridge."

Oh, _that_.

"That was for Al's benefit," he scolded, taking a seat next to her. He opened the paper straight to the crossword section and planted it flat on the table on top of part of the disarray that she called hers. "I'm touched though, didn't know you cared."

"Spoiler alert: I _don't_," she huffed, not seeming particularly preoccupied with his intrusion.

"I'm borrowing this," he retorted, picking up one of her quills. He twirled it between long fingers under her watchful and much to his glee, slightly concerned gaze. "What was it you wanted, Weasley?"

To his surprise, she didn't complain, though her eyes were still affixed to her quill. "It'll only take a few minutes," she pleaded, to his amazement. Rose Weasley begging for him to give her the time of day was certainly a first. "Our first month is finally up and we haven't talked money yet."

He couldn't say he was stunned by this new piece of information. Albus had been avoiding this particular talk with his red-headed cousin for a while now. Something about him lying to her in order to get her to move with them, claiming they didn't have the funds to bank the place.

Which was of course preposterous, but that was Al for you. Mindlessly barreling through obstacles and then not knowing how to fix the problems that arose from all the mindless barreling.

Apparently, she had grown concerned about it to the point where she was resorting to him, Scorpius Malfoy. It was all sorts of wrong.

"We already paid for the first month and the security deposit," he started. His 1 acrosswas, rather appropriately,_ 'highly unpleasant physical sensation caused by illness or injury'_, four letters_._ A goddamned pain, that's what it was. Perfect to describe this conversation or, otherwise, what Rose Weasley was to his ass. "Monty is practically family. He's fine with us not paying on the dot."

"_I'm_ not okay with it."

My oh _my_, Rose Weasley was bothered by it. _Shocker_.

"Of course _you_ wouldn't be, Weasley, you have no chill," he quipped. She was one of the most fastidious people he knew. "And what is it that you require of me, hmm?"

"Al's been avoiding me."

Oh, so she'd caught up on that. How _sagacious_ of her. What had clued her in, the fact that he bolted toward the door every time she mentioned 'bills' or 'money'?

"I need to figure this out so I can move on with my life."

He nodded, this time violently scribbling down a few letters on the puzzle. Across 2 was "_causing annoyance"_, ten letters. 'Irritating' or, alternatively, Albus-Potter-When-He-Decided-To-Dump-His-Problems-On-His-Lap.

Using him as a shield from his own cousin was _low_.

"Fine, Weasley. Just give me the gist, I'm ageing here."

"You'll brief him later?"

"Sure."

This was probably the most civil conversation they'd had since… well, _ever_.

"Well, first of all how do you propose we split the bill?"

"Evenly…?" He shook his head, and looked up at her, brow furrowed, confusion apparent. He hadn't been aware this constituted a problem. "How else would you propose we split it?"

"Well, I'm currently occupying two bedrooms, so I figured—," she proceeded, shifting nervously.

Oh, _that_. Trust her to create problems where there were none.

"Don't be daft, Weasley," he snorted, dismissively waving his hand. "My room is larger than both of yours combined."

"Hardly, Malfoy," she protested, eyes narrowing.

"Lord give me patience," he groaned. "Just split it in three, woman."

"But that wouldn't be—"

"Split. It. _Evenly_."

Her tired gaze met his. Amidst the exhaustion he could see a flash of defiance in them, that one look he had come to know so well over the years.

"You're being a pest, Weasley," he attacked, preemptive striking any of the objections he knew would inevitably follow. "You asked for my opinion, I gave it to you. I don't care, Al won't either."

She sighed in response. He could physically feel her giving up.

Rose Weasley, giving up without a fight. Another first.

Seeing her defeated like this didn't afford him as much pleasure as he had imagined it would. Afterwards he wouldn't have been able to tell you what had possessed him, but he found himself holding out his mug to her.

"Here," he offered. Her eyes went from the still steaming cup to him and then back to the cup. "It's tea." Once again, she hesitated. "Just _take_ the darned thing."

She hesitantly reached out to grab it and he gingerly let go. She wrapped both her hands around it.

"Thanks," she muttered, eyes avoiding his.

Well now she'd just made it awkward.

"I'm going to get another," he professed, standing. He was halfway across the living room before he consciously realized he'd given his morning tea to Rose Goddamned Weasley.

"But—"

"I'll be back," he reassured.

It was hardly six a.m. and he was reassuring people. A little bit too early for social interaction of any kind, much less _this_. He scampered off to the kitchen, all the way shaking his head at himself.

When he finally returned, fresh cup in hand, he found her peering at his puzzle. She was smiling all by her lonesome as she read the clues. He cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"Pretending you can read again, Weasley?" he quipped. "Nobody really believes you."

She had frozen at his words, face flushing red. "You're an ass," she punctiliously declared, reaching for what was now _her_ mug as one would reach toward a protective charm. "5 Across is 'shrapnel'," she gibed, smiling to herself before taking a sip.

"Real mature, Weasley."

"16 Down is 'measles'. I could go on."

"You _monster_." He pulled the paper away from her reach, protectively holding it against his chest. "You have ten more minutes," he warned, throwing a glance at the grandfather clock and raising an eyebrow at her. He then sat down at a safe distance.

"Fine." She glanced longingly at paper, then back at him with a small smile. "40 Down is 'abyss'." He couldn't help but grinning back at her. Now this was more akin to normalcy.

"You just lost yourself five minutes."

"Worth it," she scoffed joyfully. "Do we make a separate account where we put the money or—"

"I can order a transfer to be made monthly into your account. Al too. Then you can unleash your persnickety inner control freak and pay it for us however way you want to."

She looked as pleased as he had suspected she would. He could already imagine the binders with receipts marked "Utilities" and "Rent" proudly lining their bookshelves.

Some people baked. Rose Weasley's equivalent of baking was doing taxes.

"I'm okay with that. Do you need my account number?"

"Text it to me later."

The mixed phones they now had, half magic, half tech (creatively called Magi-Techs) had been one of the Malfoys' saving graces after the war. Scorpius had brought a regular ol' cellphone home for the summer, courtesy of one of his friends. Instead of pestering him about it, Astoria had (in a masterful fit that had been 50% sheer impulse, 50% cunning) decided to invest on the growing industry.

Effectively, that cellphone had been responsible for the rebranding of the Malfoy name. 'Muggle' and 'Malfoy' in the same sentence made for good press. It sold papers. They had made bucketloads of money and in the process, redeemed his legacy.

Grandpa Lucius had been livid.

"Will do. I'll write in the value for this month too."

He nodded and quietly sipped his tea. "Anything else?"

This was probably the longest conversation he'd ever had with her without getting hexed. It was, for all purposes, uncharted territory. He stole a glance at the bowl on the fireplace where their wands now rested, unused and forgotten, then gazed back at her.

She was smiling at him again.

It was _eerie_.

"Just one. Do you have a savings account?," she inquired, leaning her cheek against her hand.

"What does _that_ have to do with anything?" he inquired. Except he suspected he knew _exactly_ what she was doing. She was using the same tone people did when they were trying to convince you to get their particular brand of cable.

"Well, I think you should start saving 5% of your salary," she huffed.

"Well, _I_ don't think that's any of your business," he huffed back, much in the same tone.

"Really?" She didn't _care_, not really, she just couldn't help herself. She needed to preach the good word of our lord and savior Financial Stability. "There are some really good options for young people at Gringotts. Al could probably get us a good-"

"I will do no such thing, Weasley," he interjected. "Do _you_ save 5% each month?"

He already knew the answer to that. _Of course_ she did.

"Malfoy, c'mon," Rose huffed. "It's common sense."

The woman didn't sleep or eat, but damn if she didn't save 5% every month. It was ludicrous.

"Just because you're a control freak and do it, it doesn't mean _everyone else_ needs to," he sneered. "You're telling me to let go of 5% of my monthly income."

"It's financial _savviness_," she nagged, wide eyed.

As if she couldn't possibly fathom why he wasn't jumping for joy at the prospect.

Savings, _yay_.

"You're a grown up," she insisted. "You _have_ to have savings."

"I don't _have_ to have anything, you just think I do," he countered, rubbing his forehead. "It's money that I could be spending on things that I actually enjoy."

"It's just _stuff_," she dismissed. "What kind of things do you even _need_ anyway?"

"Not 'need', _want_. Travelling. A new broom. Clothes. _Fun_." His lips tightened in a thin smile. "Not that you would know what fun is."

"Ha, amusing," she retorted, unfazed. "You should be saving about 10%. You'd be starting on training wheels."

"Ha, 10%. You're hilarious."

"Come on Malfoy, you _know_ I'm right," she moaned, her weariness finally showing.

"Of _course_ I know you're right," he blurted before he could stop himself.

Oh, _joy_ now she wasn't going to _ever_ leave him alone.

"Then why are you making this so difficult?" she groaned, despair, confusion and frustration all showing their claws.

She appeared to be exhausted and yet here she still was, pestering him about financial awareness.

Rose Weasley was so bizarre.

"_Because_… it's such a _bother_." His tone was softer now.

"No, it's not."

"It's a goddamned hassle and you know it."

Bureaucracy always was. He wouldn't have been surprised if she got a kick out of it though.

"I'll do it for you."

"What?!" What?!"You would?!" She_ would_?!

"Yup," she nodded in assent. "I can do it when I go take care of the bills."

"Really?" Scorpius grinned back at her and finally saw her relax. "Wow. Thanks, I guess?"

What a poet.

So _this_ was what it felt like to have Rose Weasley as a friend.

_Huh_.

He could see the appeal.

Picking up his paper and her quill again, he leaned back, supporting the paper against his crossed leg. Eight letters, "_a thing that blocks one's way or prevents or hinders progress._".

"It's not a problem, really," she droned. "I'll need you to sign some forms."

"Dump all the paperwork you want on my room," he nodded back dismissively, his mind already engaged. He jotted down '_obstacle_'.

"Neat. Thanks, Malfoy."

"Sure, Weasley."

She yawned. Despite the allure carried by his 10 Down, his eyes were drawn to her like moth to flame. "You should get some sleep."

"Thanks. I will." Her gaze met his, humor flashing in her blue eyes. "We should talk money more often. You're almost tolerable."

"Likewise."

Off the corner of his eyes he could see her getting up to her feet. She practically dragged herself to the hallway and out of his line of sight. When he thought he'd finally gotten rid of her, he heard her voice chiming from across the room.

"Hey Malfoy?" He turned back to face her and she beamed at him. "35 across is 'elementary'."

Her smile made his stomach lurch.

"Good talk, Weasley. Now bugger off."

"Leave the quill or get… _quilled_."

The mind of a genius, the self-preservation of a toddler, the humor of a demented nutcase.


	6. Albus Potter's Utterly Misguided Attempt at Bringing the Party Home

**December 3rd, 2027**

_Bless you_, Albus Potter.

The silencing spell he had cast on her bedroom worked like a dream. It was a nifty little deal, blocking every single possible source of noise from her sanctum of peace. He'd even added some white noise that sounded remarkably like the sounds of her old place.

If the house burned down, Rose would probably burn with it; there was no way she'd hear the alarm or the screams.

Some nights, however, were shittier than others.

After tossing and turning in her bed for what had seemed only a short while, she had finally succumbed and gotten up to get herself a glass of water.

(Because _that_ would help, pfft.)

And then it happened. She had expected darkness and silence. What she found outside was…. neither.

What the flying _fuck_.

Rose dragged herself out of her bedroom, a hand shielding her eyes from the light. Her senses were being assaulted. There was music and general loudness coming from… well, _everywhere_. There were flashing lights coming from one end of the corridor where their living room stood. There was raucous laughter coming from the kitchen.

Rose sighed. It was finally happening.

Albus had guaranteed that their house would be a sanctuary. That he would _never_, he repeated, _never_ bring here the kind of madcap party he had been famous for hosting back at his parents' place.

Albus' promises were made earnestly. He generally meant them, with every single fiber of his smushy little soul. Unfortunately, he was also plagued with a highly selective memory, which made him tend to forget assurances he'd made that were in the slightest inconvenient.

Her eyes were still adjusting to the light when someone stumbled blindly into the hallway. She recognized Alistair Yardley a split second before he crashed into her, toppling them both to the ground.

"_Shit_, I'm so sorry!"

Yeah, Yardley, you better be sorry.

He looked genuinely concerned about her well-being as he scrambled back to his feet, and held out a hand to pull her back up to hers. Reluctantly, she took it, glaring at her assaulter.

It was way too early for this. Or late. She wasn't really sure which. Judging by the alcohol in his breath, his loose tie and his crumpled shirt, that was now halfway open across his torso, more time had elapsed than she had felt pass.

It was somehow comforting to know that she had slept at _least_ some.

"I'm so sorry… Rosie? Rosie Posie, are you here?"

Judging by the nonsense question and his slurred voice, she'd been in bed at least three to four hours. No one could get this sloshed in less time.

(Could they?)

Her hand was still trapped in his and she quirked an eyebrow at him. Yardley seemed to remember himself and let go. Unfortunately, he felt the need to instead give her a bear hug.

Oh great, he was a hugger. An enthusiastic one at that.

"Always nice to see you, Yardley," she scowled, her voice still croaky. "Now let go."

"Did we wake you up?" he asked, freeing her from his hold. He looked genuinely concerned.

"What clued you in?" The fact that she was in two sizes too large pajamas perhaps? The fact that her eyes were still crusty? The fact that her hair looked like a mop that got caught in a thunderstorm?

"Al told us you were probably asleep and about the silencing spell so we assumed—" The boy paused for a second, nervously brushing his fingers through already tousled brown hair. He was only making it worse. "I think this may have gotten a little out of hand."

Ya think?

My, my, Yardley. How perceptive.

"I'm so sorry, darling," he mumbled. "Al guaranteed his spell was full proof."

"Nah, it was. I just wanted some water," she dismissed. He looked relieved and she offered him a smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Good talk, Yardley."

Purposefully, she turned toward the kitchen.

This was her house. If she wanted to get a damned glass of water in the middle of the night, she wasn't about to be deterred by a combination of social anxiety and wasted idiots.

She was a grown ass woman.

She could deal with a bunch of sloshed dumbasses.

The prospect of doing so, however, was making her legs move remarkably _slow_. Yardley, bless his soul, was trailing after her in an attempt to continue their conversation. "So where are you working?" he inquired, obviously trying his best to reign in his intoxication.

"St. Mungo's."

"Oh, that's amazing! You finally doing your… er… Healer thing?"

"Yup."

"Are you working with Finn? Finn Binn?"

She sniggered and glanced back at him. She was rewarded with a dazzling smile.

Finn Binn had a really unfortunate name. It was a sensitive topic for the boy but otherwise hilarious for everyone else. It gave him notoriety: everyone knew Finn Binn was working at St. Mungo's. He'd probably make Healer before anyone else.

"Yeah, he's a right twat."

"Yeah he is," Yardley guffawed. He seemed immensely pleased with himself. "Do you like it there?"

"It's okay."

It was worrying how she seemed to become less and less articulate the more nervous she got. And nervous she was.

There were about ten people crammed in their tiny kitchen space, glasses of wine, firewhiskey or butterbeer in hand. She only recognized about a handful of them, but they were obviously very drunk, though not nearly enough.

Rose wished that they were all far more drunk and unconscious.

"Hey folks, this is Rose Weasley!" Yardley called. He was rewarded by a series of incomprehensible yet enthusiastic cheers back.

It was then that Rose Weasley's brilliant mind seemed to give up on life.

With Yardley she'd had some kind of rapport. He was a Gryffindor. He was Al's friend. They'd met a thousand times. He'd gone to Hogwarts with them, for goodness' sake. She knew the bloke well enough to tolerate, maybe even _appreciate_ his well-meaning attempts at small talk.

However, there were now about ten people she didn't _know_ lounging in _her_ kitchen, gaping at her and giggling. She knew they were trying to place the weirdo in the two sizes too large pajamas and the crusty eyes… even though Yardley had literally just introduced her… and this was theoretically _her_ kitchen.

How was it that they were making _her_ feel like she was the one who didn't belong?

(Mind you, she _knew_ this was all her head.)

(It just didn't comfort her as much as it should.)

She could feel herself shrinking behind Yardley, the only familiar tether she had to her chill.

(Her inexistent chill, according to Scorpius Malfoy.)

(Maybe he had a point.)

Yardley took one good look at her, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. She had no idea of what happened, but all of a sudden, he was mobilizing the kitchen crowd. "Make way you idjits. You there, we need a glass of water," he barked, pointing at a red headed bloke who scurried to fish a glass from one of the cabinets. "You two numbnuts, give me butterbeers. About six of them."

Not ten seconds later, a glass of water was being deposited into her hand. "There you go, love!" Yardley was looking awfully pleased with himself. He unceremoniously ushered her out of the kitchen, holding the top of the six butterbeers fast between his fingers. "So Rosie, I haven't seen you in a while!" he continued, as if nothing had interrupted them. "Last time was probably…"

Rose wondered whether Yardley had always been this sharp and she just hadn't noticed. She had always thought he was a bit… _thick_. His jokes had been particularly crude. He had been loud and reckless and kind of a git.

He had certainly changed.

"Al's birthday party two years ago, yeah," she mused quietly, taking a drink from her glass and dodging an over enthusiastic oncomer. "It's been a while."

"Watch it, you fucker!" Yardley shouted at the guy that had stormed past them. "It was a good party, that one," he continued, cheerfully. "But then Potter's middle name was always 'Fun'."

"Where _is_ he anyway?" Rose stopped in front of her bedroom door and looked up at Yardley.

Not for the first time tonight, Rose wondered to herself whether Yardley had changed. Had he been this tall when they'd left Hogwarts? Nah, he couldn't have. Back then he'd been a scrawny kid, nothing like this man towering over her.

On a less bright note, where _was_ the man of the hour? She needed a little chat with Albus 'Fun' Potter about bringing what sounded like fifty people into their home without asking first.

"Living room, doing body shots off of Melissa Peakes," Yardley snickered, waggling his eyebrows. "He seemed pretty happy."

Oh great. Had it been anyone else, Rose might have been pleased. It would mean he was moving on from his monkish lifestyle. Melissa Peakes, however, had big brown eyes and short, curly, blond hair. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who had noticed.

"Boy has a type, what you going to do?" Yardley shrugged, handing one of the bottles toward her. "Butterbeer?"

"Thanks Yardley, but I'm going back to bed."

"I figured you probably wouldn't be getting any sleep after this," he stated, still holding out the butterbeer. "Al told us about your trouble sleeping when he was bragging about his fullproof silence wall," he added, in lieu of an explanation.

"Come on, Rose," he coaxed, waving his wand. The butterbeers clinked against each other between his fingers. "A few of these in your system and by tomorrow morning you won't even remember that Al trashed your house."

"I wouldn't remember much else either," she sighed, laying the glass of water on the floor and taking the buttebeer from his hand. How the heck did one open these anyway? "What are _you_ doing with your life, anyway?"

"Oh, I'm an Apparition Examiner," he replied, grinning and laying down the other five beers on the floor next to her glass. "Sometimes people get splinched. It's either really concerning or fucking hilarious." He took her beer from her and cracked it open, ceremoniously returning it to her. He then picked up another one for himself and popped it open, taking a swig. His grin returned. "I guess our works are related in a way. I'm the one sending in the people with all the missing bits."

She was on her pajamas, outside her room, having a perfectly pleasant conversation with fucking_ Alistair Yardley_. This night just kept getting weirder and weirder.

"Yeah, we always wondered who the maniac was," she huffed, taking a drink from her bottle as well. It coursed down her throat, warming everything on the way down until it settled. "This is nice. Thanks." Warm and toasty. Like a goddamned hot water bottle inside her veins.

"See?" He looked amused, almost a little smug. "Butterbeer makes everything better."

Had Yardley always looked this pretty? Had she been blind?!

"YARDLEYYY!"

That was unmistakably Albus Potter.

"WHAT?!" Yardley howled back.

"BUTTERBEER!"

"GET IT YOURSELF, YOU TOSSER!" Yardley cleared his throat and grinned at her, silently toasting the other side of the corridor where the living room was. "This is bound to be fun."

Albus Potter stormed into the hallway, empty bottle in hand. His cheeks were red, his hair worse than hers and Yardley's combined. Rose put on her best Ginny Potter scowl and placed both hands on her hips. She was all but ready to make a scene.

"Albus Severus Fucking _Potter_, what the actual fuck is going on?!"

Wait, what?!

Surprisingly, that _hadn't_ come from her.

Yardley observed the unforeseen turn of events with a bemused look, leaning back against the wall to better appreciate the scene.

Scorpius Malfoy had just opened his door and then slammed it shut, bed head evident. He was now standing between Rose and Albus, looking the angriest she'd ever seen him.

"And you, _YOU_!" He was now addressing her apparently, pointing an accusing finger at her. He glared at her butterbeer and then looked at her as if she'd grown a second head. "Are you _enabling_ this shit?!"

"Malfoy…" Rose moved her hands behind her back to hide the butterbeer, eyes bugging out, wide open with shock. "I—"

Albus was looking as confounded as her. "What the—"

"Don't you fucking grin at me Yardley," Scorpius snarled, glaring murderously at the boy. "You shrieking like a fucking banshee was what woke me up in the first place."

Scorpius Malfoy had apparently woken up on the very wrongest side of the bed.

"Malfoy, calm—"

"Don't you fucking tell me to calm down, you twat!" he spat at her. "Congratulations, you fucking woke me up. PARTY'S OVER!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, his raspy voice cracking even further. "Fuck off Yardley and take your idiot friends with you."

Albus still looked too stunned to protest. Rose threw him a sympathetic glance. He'd expected her to be the one screaming at him, which was nothing new. The universe had then thrown him a curve ball, a curve ball in the shape of Scorpius Malfoy.

She might hex people when she was angry, but Scorpius Malfoy had the shittiest temper she'd ever seen.

He stomped across the corridor toward the kitchen, shoulder checking Yardley in the process, throwing him against the wall. "Out of my house_, Yardley_!_" _She wouldn't have been surprised if it were intentional. It took a lot to seriously piss Malfoy off, but when it happened… oh, my.

She could hear him screaming at people on the kitchen and a few cracks and pops that indicated that people were disapparating. "DON'T DRINK AND APPARATE KIDS!" Yardley howled in the general direction of the kitchen. A few people escaped the kitchen and fled past them, their feet barely touching the ground. Surprisingly nimble, for a bunch of drunkards.

Yardley's dark eyes met hers and he whistled low. "Wow, your boy has a _nasty_ temper."

Rose strongly resented that. Malfoy wasn't her boy, he was Al's.

Yardley was still grinning, as if this were the most amusing thing that had happened to him all week.

"YEAH, YOU TELL THEM, MALFOY!" he shouted toward the kitchen, grinning again when he heard a shout back.

"YOU'D BETTER BE FUCKING _GONE_ WHEN I GET THERE, YARDLEY!"

"Oh well." Yardley didn't look fazed in the least, but he took his wand from his pocket and picked another two butterbeers with his free fingers. "I don't envy you two."

And with a pop, he put his superior disapparating skills to good use.

Albus was obviously drunk. He was just panicking incoherently. "Shit, shit, _shit_."

"It'll be fine, Al," she reassured him, but took quick strides to the living room. She needed her wand. Not that Scorpius was going to hit them or anything, but getting her wand was a perfectly reasonable security measure.

Her breath got caught in her throat when she looked at the living room and she finally understood why Albus was panicking.

Empty bottles were strewn across floors, tables and even the mantlepiece. Apart from her little table, every single available surface had some sort of empty or full container. There was a broken bottle in front of the entrance door. One of their vases was broken. There were appetizers scattered across the floor. In fact, she suspected someone had spilled something on the very spot she was standing; her _feet_ were sticking.

There were a few people staring dumbly at her. "Party over." She somehow felt more assured now that she was kicking people out. "_Now_. Before Malfoy gets here and bashes your faces in."

They did. Every last one of them.

She was perfectly aware that their terrified looks weren't for her benefit. She could practically _feel _Malfoy's eyes boring holes into the back of her skull. She gathered all the courage she could muster (which, incidentally, was very little) and turned back, her plan to fetch her wand dissolving into thin air.

"What the fuck, Weasley," he growled, his arms flailing wildly. "I thought you'd be the one to stop this kind of shit and yet… and _yet_…" He'd just seen the living room.

She wouldn't have been surprised if smoke started coming out of his ears.

Neither Albus nor her were Gryffindors and it was in situations like this that it showed.

"Malfoy—"

"JUST LET ME SCREAM, WEASLEY, OR I'M GOING TO START _SMASHING_ THINGS."

Behind him, Albus nodded. He was still looking a little befuddled. Rose actually felt sorry for him.

"Okay," she nodded. "Scream."

Her blue eyes met his… well, his eyes were usually gray. Now, however, they had darkened to a point where they were almost black. It was a little terrifying.

In another situation, she'd be cracking jokes about his soul or lack of thereof, but this really wasn't the time.

"I have fucking tryouts tomorrow morning for the _Montrose Magpies_," he spat, his contempt for the words evident. "I wanted to tell you two _all_ about it, but when I fucking get home, no one's even fucking _here_! I take a fucking sleeping draught, which knocked me out cold and should theoretically make it fucking _impossible_ for anyone to wake me up… and _yet_ you manage to! When I _do _wake up… what the _fuck_ were you two thinking?!"

They really needed to get a swear jar.

Al threw her a pleading look of which the meaning was clear: _do not rat me out or Malfoy will eat me alive_. She could sympathize. He loved her, sure, but not enough to contradict Malfoy when he was in this state.

"When did it become okay to fucking plan parties here without talking to _me _first?! Weasley, you'd be _livid _if I'd had any part in this, don't fucking _pretend_ you wouldn't!"

The two of them stood more of a chance of surviving if they stuck together. Malfoy kept shifting his attention between the two of them, meaning he wasn't focusing and preparing to kill either of them. Not killing was good.

"This place is _destroyed!_ I know Albus is an idiot but never, _ever_ in my wildest dreams did I imagine you'd be an even _bigger _one!"

This was probably the nicest thing Scorpius Malfoy had ever told her. She kept her mouth shut, lips setting into a thin line to try to hide the smile that was growing on them. The ridicule of the situation was starting to hit her.

Maybe it was the butterbeer.

"I can see you grinning Weasley, don't think I don't," he glowered dangerously. "Do you think this is _funny_?!"

She shook her head and looked down at the floor. A small snort escaped her mask of cool.

"You do, do you?! You're supposed to be the _smart_ one!"

Behind him, a snort was able to escape from under the hand that Albus was using to cover his mouth. And then another.

She didn't know which one of them started it, but after a few seconds they were openly chuckling.

"_Seriously_?!"

They only laughed harder.

"So it's okay for Weasley to hex people when she's mad but _I_ can't be angry with perfectly good reason?!" Scorpius was still shouting, but he wasn't looking as confident now as when he'd kicked everyone out. "You irresponsible, inconsiderate _assholes_!"

"You sound like my _mum_," Rose guffawed between chuckles, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Yeah mate, you sound like her mum," Albus acquiesced, wiping a tear from his cheek. "Why the hell are you so wound up because of the Magpies? You _hate _them! You always say they're _garbage_!"

"It's not about the Magpies, it's the _principle_ of the matter!" At this point, Scorpius was starting to look a little unsure of himself. "You guys can't plan shit like this without _asking _first!"

"You… you… really… think _Rose_…" Albus was laughing so hard by now that he had to stop to regain his breath. "You think _Rose_ threw… a… a…. _rager_?!" Albus was roaring with laughter at this point. For someone who had been so scared just a little while ago, he was recovering nicely. "Are… you… completely… insane?!"

"Well, I got out of my room and—" Scorpius had gone from unsure to defensive. "She was..."

"And what Scorp?" Albus had stopped laughing and his look was almost predatory, like a tiger about to pounce on a helpless gazelle. "You assumed that Rose Weasley, Queen of The _Nerds_…" Albus paused and threw Rose a slightly apologetic look. "No offense," he offered.

Rose shrugged, unoffended.

"Rose Weasley, Miss People Phobia_…_ had _what_, decided she didn't have social anxiety after all and that we should throw a party to _celebrate_?!"

Rose's eyebrow twitched at Albus and he shrugged back.

Malfoy had gone quiet now.

"I can't believe I'm the only one who wasn't a humongous _asswipe_ tonight," Rose sighed as she picked her wand from the bowl and grabbed both of theirs. Her mind drifted back to the pleasant evening she'd been having. "Hey Al?"

Albus looked back at her as he silently started to pick up the scattered bottles.

"Did Yardley get smarter?"

Albus Potter looked at Malfoy's abject look and grinned like the cat who ate the canary. "Nope." He picked up another bottle and then continued. "_You_ were just an asshole back then. Never gave him the time of day."

Malfoy sniggered.

"Shove it, Malfoy. Or I'm petrifying you," Rose warned, throwing him his wand and then Albus'. "I'm pissed at you both."

"You were the one shamelessly flirting with Yardley," Albus huffed, waggling his eyebrows and walking a few steps toward the wand she had just thrown him. It hadn't flown anywhere near his direction. "On your _pajamas_."

"We were just chatting."

"Yeah," Malfoy scoffed derisively from across the room, where he was repairing the broken bottle and scourgifying the floor. "You weren't making googly eyes at him or anything."

"I wasn't." Had she been?! She didn't think she had. "Nope, I wasn't."

"Poor Yardley," Al sighed, with mock despair. "_He_ on the other hand was shamelessly flirting with _you_."

"He was just being nice, you asswipe."

"'Asswipe' is getting old, Weasley," Malfoy growled. "You need new insults. And eyes. And ears. Because the only way Yardley would be _nice_ to you, was if he was trying to get in your pants."

"_Hey_!_" _Albus protested, his tone ridiculously offended. "Yardley is the purest of souls." He really wasn't. "He'd marry her first." He really wouldn't.

"You guys are jerks," Rose moaned, scourgifying whatever cracked and stomped snacks were currently lining their floor.

Silence reigned on their living room for a while as they picked up bottles and cleaned up messes.

From across the room came a very colourful expletive. "Those savages didn't even use fucking _coasters_!" Malfoy was crouching close to one of the tables, his fingers trying to rub off a ring that seemed permanently etched on the wood. "This will never come out!"

"Coasters, Malfoy?" Albus quipped as he made his way toward the hallway, presumably to dump the bottles he'd been holding for the better part of the last five minutes. "_Coasters_?"

"And _I'm _supposed to be the anal one in this house?!" Rose protested, looking indignantly at Albus. "I motion we dub Scorpius the Finicky One. All in favor?"

"Aye!" Albus lifted his hands enthusiastically, along with all the bottles he was holding before scurrying off the the kitchen.

"Oh, sod off."

There was silence for a little while, as both her and Malfoy labored, trying to return some semblance of order to their wrecked living room. Albus returned holding a few bags, which he unceremoniously tossed at her and Scorpius. "Are you still trying for the Magpies tomorrow, oh Great Finicky One?" he asked, snorting. "Even though you _despise _them?"

"Probably, yes."

Both Rose and Albus stopped what they were doing to curiously peer at him.

"_Why_, though?" Albus looked puzzled. Usually he was a savant when it came to Scorpius Malfoy, but in this occasion, he looked frankly stunned.

"You'd probably get it too," Rose chimed in as she threw a few bottles into the bag that Albus had gotten her. "Their Beaters are absolute trash. _You _on the other hand_, _only suck."

"Shove it, Weasley," Malfoy scolded, throwing one of the bags at her. It soared helplessly for a second before falling to the ground. "I don't even _want_ it. I just wanted to show people that I _could_ if I wanted to."

"Well, Malfoy—" Rose's sentence was cut short. The frantic look Albus and his desperate shaking of his head informed her that now would be a great time to shut up.

"'Well' _what_, Weasley?" Scorpius asked, straightening himself up and staring straight at her.

She had never noticed how damned tall he was. Was he taller than Yardley? Had he grown the past week?!

"Nothing, Malfoy," she murmured weakly. His jaw was set, his eyes cold. It was as if his entire face had frozen. _Emotionless_. Somehow, this was far more terrifying than Scorpius Malfoy screaming. She'd seen screaming. She'd never seen… whatever _this _was. "Nothing."

Scorpius said nothing else and for a while, you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.

"So about Yardley…" Albus teased, in what was obviously a desperate attempt at steering the conversation away from whatever _this_ was. "I could probably set you two up."

"Don't bother, Al." Rose sighed. "I don't have the time to _sleep_,let alone date Alastair Yardley."

"You could sleep _with_ Yardley," chimed in Albus, rather _un_helpfully. "Two birds, one bed."

"You're an ass," she sniggered back. "I really can't though."

"Yeah, Al," Scorpius quipped cheerfully, apparently brought back from whatever pit of hell had sucked him in. "Remember Thurkell?"

Her heart fell at the name. Rose could feel it caught in her throat, impossible to swallow. She jutted her chin forward and resumed her handling of her bottles.

Thurkell. Motherfucking _Thurkell_.

She could practically hear Albus flailing madly behind her. Unlike her, however, Malfoy didn't seem to get the hint.

"Yeah, _James_ Thurkell, that was his name! Man I'd forgotten all about him." Malfoy was musing now, leaning against the couch. Is she had bothered to look, she would have noticed there was a slight frown on his face. "I never knew what you saw in him. Guy was a douche."

Rose could feel the anger boiling inside her. Anger and something else.

Malfoy continued with his tirade. "He was really proud of himself for a while there, the _fucker_. Nailing Rose Weas-."

_Thunk_.

Malfoy's body fell with a thud before he had the chance to finish.

Rose gasped.

For the second time that evening, that _hadn't_ come from her.

Albus Potter's eyes were as dark as Malfoy's had been twenty minutes earlier. He dropped the bag he was holding, took a few steps toward her and curled one of his arms around her shoulder protectively.

"_Asswipe_."

That _hadn't _been her either. And Malfoy was a bit incapacitated to speak so... that left Albus.

"I'm hiring a house elf tomorrow to clean this up," he informed the two of them, cool as a cucumber. This, my friends, was Albus' particular brand of fury, _seething __calm_. "Go sleep, Rosie."

She was still reeling with shock. Thurkell was a big deal, sure, but not enough to warrant hexing Malfoy about.

That meant Albus was _projecting _his own problems.

Which was sad and also a little worrying.

"Night Al," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his torso and holding him tight against her. He hugged her back, and she could feel him glaring at Malfoy.

She had just twisted the doorknob to to her bedroom when she heard Al's voice again.

"If you ever, and I mean _ever_, talk about Thurkell again… I swear I'll do a great deal more than just petrifying you, you fucking _wanker_."

She quietly shut the door behind her.


	7. Chocolate Frogs and Mutual Concerns

**December 3rd, 2027**

"He _left _you here?!"

Rose skirted around the limp figure still sprawled on her living room floor, looking down at the motionless body of Scorpius Malfoy. His eyes were still glassy, his posture still rigid from Al's little… erm… _outburst _earlier.

"The _nerve _of him!"

Everyone knew you could petrify people all you wanted, so long as you had the decency to thaw them before it started to do bodily harm. Dehydration and low blood sugar were serious business!

It was just goddamned petrifying common courtesy.

She peered at the clock. It was around eight a.m. That meant he had been frozen for three, maybe four hours.

This was _bad_.

"Shit. Al?"

Rose nipped to Al's bedroom. She found the door unlocked, slightly ajar. Opening it completely revealed… _nothing_. The room was bloody empty. Which meant that Al had hexed his best friend and then up and _left_. He had either been drunker than she had assumed or angrier.

She was betting it was a maudlin cocktail of the two.

"_Shit_."

She took the longest strides her diminutive 5'3'' allowed her and rushed back to Scorpius' petrified body.

"Sorry, let me just get my wand."

What the hell was she rushing for anyway? It wasn't like he wasn't going anywhere.

A few seconds later she was back. She murmured the incantation, like she had so often before and praised every deity she could remember that Al hadn't gotten creative with this one. She wouldn't have known what to do if Malfoy had been hit with one of his designer hexes.

Scorpius' body slowly relaxed until his eyes finally closed and he frantically blinked. He was going to need an eyedrop spell at some point. And she was probably going to have to be the one to give it to him.

Goddamnit, Al.

"There we go." She grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders. His weight was crushing her. His body easily dwarfed hers. She was what, almost a whole foot, maybe a little more, shorter than him?

She flicked her wand and cast a few strengthening spells on herself until she was finally able to hold him upward.

Working at St. Mungo's had given her a few valuable life skills, that was for sure. However spells to carry bodies that far outweighed her own was one of the few she had never really imagined herself using at home.

_Especially _not on Malfoy.

"Nice and easy." She carefully deposited him on the couch on a sitting position. She picked up his feet and rotated him to have him lie down and threw a blanket on top of his legs. "I'll be right back."

She returned a few minutes later with a package of chocolate frogs that she tossed onto his lap and a mug of tea. She sat down on the available space next to her unusually quiet housemate and gingerly handed him the cup, lest he drop it.

"Drink up," she instructed, carefully letting go. He nodded and obediently took a sip. "And eat some chocolate, you look even pastier than the usual."

He bent his knees and she sat down on the space he freed, tucking the blanket tight around his feet. It took a few chocolate frogs and two or three tea refills before he finally managed to croak out something unintelligible.

"What was that?" she prodded, stealing a sideways glance at him.

He cleared his throat, shifting his legs away from his line of sight. "I said thanks," he croaked again, taking another sip.

"Yeah, I know," she grumbled. "It was very good of me not to let you _starfished on our carpet_!" The volume of her words rose. "What _happened_?"

"What happened when?"

"Al hexed you. Al left." She lifted a finger for each as if counting and then made a scissoring motion with them. "I'm guessing somewhere between these two happenings," she cried, her volume and pitch climbing, "_something _must have occurred to make him pissed enough to leave you _in a full body bind_!"

Scorpius was staring at her as if she were insane.

"How the fuck am I supposed to _know _what got his fucking panties in a twist?!" he growled back, angrily ripping a chocolate frog package apart. "Like you so sagaciously pointed out, I was in a _full body bind_!" He caught the frog before it leaped to the ground and gave it a bite for good measure.

"He left you petrified and _bailed_!" she shrilled, looking at him as if he were batty himself.

This was what happened whenever they needed to talk. It was as if there was a language barrier in which either or both of them assumed that the other party was following. They rarely were on the same page. They'd gotten better over the years, but it was like trying to see colors in the dark.

"What are you yelling at me for?!" And now he was yelling too, his voice still hoarse despite the tea. "I'm the one who got petrified! Go yell at Al."

"_Because_!" she shrieked, lowering her arms in defeat. "I don't get it and it worries me," she muttered.

"_What_?"

"I don't _get _it and it _worries _me. It wasn't that big a deal," she explained patiently, as if he were a very dumb child. "Sure he was _angry_, he might even be livid, but he left _you _here. He can't do that. He never did before."

"You're right, it's preposterous," he agreed, throwing her a Chocolate Frog Card. "_What _wasn't a big deal?"

"Huh?" she mumbled, turning the card around to look at what she'd gotten. She scoffed.

Morgan Le Fay was giving her the middle finger, the goddamned hussy.

"You said it wasn't a big deal," he repeated, shifting his legs closer to the couch to look at her. "Do you mean Thurkell?"

Rose scoffed again. Thurkell wasn't worth a passing thought, much less a full-fledged curse.

"No, not a big deal," she affirmed, swallowing hard. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry. "If it were, I would've hexed you myself."

It certainly didn't bother _her _anymore. Not at all. Why would it?

Except sometimes it _did_. Like now.

"Then why did he freak out about it?"

"I'll be damned if I know!" she huffed, indignantly. "I genuinely don't have a clue. Maybe some misguided protective instinct along with the feeling that the situation was similar to his and Zara's…" She rubbed her temples. "I don't _know _okay?! That's what's worrying me, the fact that I have no fucking clue."

"So Al felt Thurkell was a kindred spirit?" Malfoy still looked confused. "But he was defending _you, _that makes no sen-"

"_What_?" she cried, shaking her head with disbelief. "Why the hell would Al feel like Thurkell was anything of the sort?"

"On account of your dumping him and smashing his ticker into a million tiny pieces like Zara did?"

"_What_?!"

Oh. _Oh_. So that was what he thought happened?!

He thought _she'd _been the one to end it.

"I did no such thing," she started, clearly enunciating her words. "He was the one who did the dumping."

"Wait, _what_?!"

"Are you naturally thick or do you work for it?" she inquired, sitting cross-legged on the couch to better scowl at him. "Thurkell dumped _me_, not the other way 'round."

"You're _shitting _me."

The fool looked surprised. Shocked, even.

"I'm certainly not _shitting _you," she reassured him. "Wild concept, I know, but _do _try to keep up, Malfoy."

"You're telling me…"

Oh Merlin.

"Yup."

"That…"

"Yes."

"_Seriously_?!"

Merlin, give her patience.

"Yes, Malfoy," she scowled. "The wanker dumped me and then… what phrasing did you use… oh, _right_, smashed my heart into-"

"Ticker," he corrected, as if automatically.

He seemed entranced with what she was saying, as if he didn't _quite _believe it.

"_What_?" she asked, not missing a beat of the rather absurd conversation that was taking place.

"I said '_ticker'_," he enunciated, arching an eyebrow at her. "Proceed."

"Fine, ticker. He smashed my ticker into a million little-" She paused and glowered at him. Her face was now about the same color as her hair. "Is _that _what you wanted to hear? Are we clear? Are you feeling fucking _happy _now?"

The wanker, rubbing it in. As if it hadn't been enough to live it, now she had to experience her one single romantic failure all over again for Scorpius' benefit.

"What, no, Weasley I wasn't—" he protested, sitting upwards.

"Save it, Malfoy," she growled, smacking one of his legs and chucking a Chocolate Frog packet at him.

It missed spectacularly.

"Oh, will you just _listen_, you stupid bint?!" he cried, throwing a Chocolate Frog packet of his own at her head. Unlike her, his aim wasn't shit and her defense was almost as bad as her throw. The chocolate frog connected right with her forehead. "That wasn't at all what I meant. I wasn't trying to rub it in."

"Then what the hell is wrong with you?!"

"I'm not an insensitive cad, Weasley," he argued and, in his defense, he sounded perfectly honest. She just wasn't sure she believed him. "I'd never have brought it up if I knew he'd been the one to… y'know."

"Come on Malfoy," she growled. "I know you think yourself above all the petty squabbles us mortals get into, but Thurkell made a big deal of advertising it when it happened. I don't think a single person in the castle—"

"Are you _daft_?!" he chuckled as if what she'd said was the funniest thing in the world. "The wanker bragging about how _he'd _broken up with _you_?! It only made me a hundred percent sure that _you _had in fact been the one to kick his sorry ass to the curb."

Well, when he put it like _that_, yes, she could see how he could have thought that Thurkell had been overcompensating.

Sadly, that hadn't been the case.

"Nope," she shook her head. "Dumped me after the Herbology N.E.W.T."

"Oof, our last exam? The fucker waited until _after _the exams?"

"I thought that was actually rather thoughtful of him," she protested, before realizing she was actually defending the jerk. "I suspect his mindfulness was probably due to the fact that I didn't give him the chance to find me or talk to me for _days _after the N.E.W.T.s started."

"Are you telling me that when he showed up on the Great Hall with Alyssa Mendez the fucker wasn't mending a broken heart?"

_Ah. _Alyssa Mendez. If we were being honest, Alyssa Mendez a big part of the reason why Thurkell could still get under her skin. Not two days after he'd dumped her, he was shagging Alyssa Mendez.

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "Made sure I got a good look too. He could have waited a goddamned week at least."

"I figured she was a rebound," Malfoy chimed in, his eyebrows furrowing. "A damned floozy, but still! I figured he was _grieving_."

It hadn't looked that way to her, not the way the asshole had waltzed into the Great Hall with her in arm the next morning and then proceeded to making a spectacle of himself and the damned floozy at the breakfast table.

And then there was the crux of the matter. "He insinuated it had been happening for a while too."

"The _asswipe_," he scowled, looking appropriately angry on her behalf.

"Yup. Are we clear on this now?" she asked, rolling her eyes. "Can we–"

"Wait, wait," Malfoy interrupted, waving his hands to stop her. "I still don't get the bit where _he _was the one to break up with _you_."

"This isn't a goddamned bedtime story, _Malfoy_," she growled, her brows snapping together. "Is your brain still petrified or something?"

"_Why _would he?!" He was still scowling, muttering between gritted teeth, as if there was some sort of piece in the puzzle that was missing. "I mean—"

"You keep saying _shit _like that!" A crease showed up between her eyebrows, her face red. "Like it's incomprehensible!"

"And it _is_!" he protested, lowering his legs to look straight at her. She turned her head to avoid looking at him. "I mean, you were beautiful, intelligent, witty, connected… I could go on!" Wait what?! "You were a bloody _prize_! And _he_… was _not_."

_What_?!

She didn't pause to wonder what was wrong with him. Instead she found herself beaming at him, grinning like an idiot.

"Wow, Malfoy. Did you just—"

She could feel her face flushing red.

"Yeah, I know what I said," he grinned sheepishly, throwing another packet her way. This one missed. "I regret nothing."

"You said I was pretty!"

"Sod off Weasley."

Well, he hadn't denied it. And the word had been 'beautiful', but she wasn't about to repeat that out loud. She might die of sheer embarrassment and Merlin only knew what Malfoy would do.

"You said I was smart!"

"This is why we can't have nice things," he groaned, covering his eyes.

She could see he was also flushed. It was endearing but also hilarious and highly mockable.

"I mean, I'm touched!" she claimed, theatrically brushing her fingers through her red hair. "I didn't know that was what you-"

Once more she was cut mid-sentence.

"That's enough now, _Weasley_," he punctuated, throwing her a dirty look.

Ah, getting under Scorpius Malfoy's nerves was always a pleasure. She decided she was going to give it one more shot before closing shop. "You said I was—" The glare he shot her was nothing short of murderous. Her eyebrows shot upwards and she raised her hands in defeat. "Fine, I'll stop."

"You better," he snickered. "And you still haven't told me _why _he did it."

"Well, he told me that I wasn't as invested in the relationship as he was."

Well that had been a bloody lie. She'd worshipped him.

"Said that I didn't have the time for him."

This had maybe not been as much of a lie.

"That I prioritized studying over him."

That part was just plain true and there was no way to deny it. She'd always been more concerned about school than their relationship, mostly because she had _trusted _him. She had trusted _them_. Thurkell had known this was their last year and that she was going all in.

"Those were his _reasons_?!" Malfoy's face was a mix between shock, disgust and… laughter. Pure laughter. Oh great, now he was just laughing. "He was dating _you _what did the tosser expect? For you _not _to study?!"

Man had a point.

She'd _warned _Thurkell that that was how it was going to be. And he, like the weak-minded tosser he was, had chosen to throw away a perfectly good relationship. He'd thrown it away because he had walked into it thinking he was going to _change _her.

Except that had never happened because, at their core, people rarely changed. Not for other people, they didn't.

"Yeah. I mean, he did have a point," she assented, grinning to herself. "I once forgot he existed for a whole week."

Scorpius had started laughing again.

She smiled for a second and then added sternly: "We had been dating for _months _at that point."

That only made him laugh harder. There was a tear streaming down his cheek now.

After a minute or so of quiet chuckling and a lot of head shaking, he suddenly stopped and gazed earnestly at her.

"I'm really sorry, though," he apologized. He looked sincere, too. "I oughtn't have poked fun at—"

"Oh, it's fine, it's fine," she reassured him, giving his leg a friendly pat. "You didn't know."

"I should have, that's the problem," he retorted, looking serious as he wiped the stray tear with the back of his hand. "Al was flailing like a madman behind you and I just dismissed it because I thought I knew better. It was stupid of me."

Albus knew his shit. Albus was the glue holding the three of them and this house together. He had probably known beforehand that she and Scorpius would be able to sit here together in peace and actually find each other's company something other than grating, exhausting or just sheer awkward.

He would have known even if he hadn't _known_.

"It was indeed stupid of you. Al usually knows his stuff," she murmured, uncrossing her legs and leaning against the back of the couch. Which reminded her of something else Albus had silently warned her about. The lack of eye contact gave her courage. "Are you still trying out for the Magpies today?"

She inhaled and waited.

"It's only at eleven. I'll be fine by then."

"Al was flailing about that too," she mumbled, her hand resting on top of his ankle. "Are you alright?"

She could feel him stiffening. After a few seconds, he relaxed again.

"Yes," he said simply.

She let go a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding.

"Is it an issue?"

Rose was pushing it, she knew that.

But Albus wasn't here. Which meant she owed it to Albus to be his Albus while Albus was off not being his Albus.

It made more sense in her mind, let's be honest.

"Yes."

Her thumb brushed lightly over his ankle and she turned to face him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not until I know whether I got it or not," he said, shaking his head. His gaze rose to meet hers and his mouth curved into a smile. "Thanks, though."

"Okay," she replied, returning his smile. "For what it's worth, I really _do _hope you get it."

"So do I." He paused for a second, looking pointedly at her. She immediately let go of his ankle and looked away. "Thanks for the tea and the chocolate. It's doing wonders for me."

"What good is it living with me if not for the free medical care when your idiot housemate hexes you and then up and leaves?" Rose sniggered.

"Yeah, that's a hundred percent the reason why I moved in with you."

The two of them quieted. Al's absence hung heavy on the room.

"We need to talk to Al," she groaned, pulling a pillow toward her.

"I know."

"This isn't normal," she replied, burying her head into the pillow. Sometimes dealing with Al was a real problem.

It hadn't always been. There had been a time when Al didn't even _need_ maintenance. He'd been a jolly old fellow, with little to no issues.

And then Zara had happened.

"No, you're right. It isn't," he agreed, slowly nodding. "But _I _don't know what to do or say. Do you?"

"I don't," she replied, shaking her head. "Maybe he needs help."

"Of _course _he needs help!" the blond boy protested. In that moment he looked younger than he really was. "Isn't that what we're talking about?"

"I mean _help_."

Malfoy looked at her as if she were insane. Maybe she _was _insane for suggesting it, but if they had gotten to the point where Albus was randomly hexing people and not regretting it immediately, there might be serious problems coming their way.

Preemptive striking the shit out of them seemed as good a plan as any.

"You mean like a shrink?" Malfoy's nose scrunched up, his face filled with distaste at the very thought. "Al isn't crazy. He's just hurting."

What was this, 1920?

"No. A _therapist_," she groaned, shaking her head. "Someone for him to _talk _to. Someone who _knows _what they are doing rather than us poking around aimlessly."

"I don't see how _that _would help." He sounded like a petulant child who'd been told his favorite toy is defective. "You think he'd talk to someone he doesn't know when he won't even talk to _us_?"

"That's precisely why. Part of the reason he doesn't talk to us is _because _it's us." She certainly felt like she was talking to a child. "It might do him some good."

Scorpius still looked skeptical.

Ah, these people who didn't suffer from mental handicaps were the very fucking worst.

"Let's say I accept the premise," he started, holding his hands up defensively. "How do we go about getting him to—"

Now they were talking.

"I have no idea. He's probably going to tell me I'm overreacting."

"Yes he will. He'll say that if hexing me is material for therapy you should have been in the loony bin for years now."

"For the last time, it's therapy, not the loony bin," she groaned, burying her head on the pillow. "We could stage an intervention…?"

"He would hate that," he sniggered. "It'll never work."

"Yeah, we wouldn't see him for weeks," she replied, her words muffled by the pillow. She looked up at him once again and he moved his legs away to meet her eye. "I'll need to catch him in one of his talking moods."

Trying to get Albus to talk when he wasn't up for it was like pulling teeth.

From an angry shark.

In a tin of acid.

While the entire world was burning.

"Please do that. And please remind him that I'm his best chum and that he genuinely loves me," he reminded her, his mouth twitching.

"Don't worry, I will," she said, shaking her head. "Man can hold a grudge."

"It's the Slytherin in him."

"I don't think it's the Slytherin. It think it's the _Albus _in him," she scoffed. "The boy was born that way."

"Yeah, even _I'm _not as petty."

The pair exchanged a look and grinned.

"Our best friend is an idiot," Rose groaned.

"I just wish I could kill Zara sometimes," he replied, tiredly rubbing his forehead. "Get a time turner and kill her before they ever meet."

"So do I dear, so do I."

"Did you just 'dear' me, _Weasley_?"

Rose shoulders gave a single dismissive shrug. "You called me 'beautiful' not ten minutes ago, _Malfoy_."

"Does that makes us even and therefore mean we'll never speak of it ever again?"

"Not even close," she sniggered. "I still have to repay you for the 'intelligent', 'witty' and 'connected'."

"Oy, I said you _were _beautiful, intelligent, witty and connected, past tense," he protested, giving her a nudge with his leg. "I didn't say you _are_. I mean, have you even _showered_?"

"Oh, _no_." She grinned. "It's not that day of the year yet."

"You're ridiculous," he quipped, grinning back. "Go back to bed."

Surprisingly, she found herself thinking that might not be such a bad idea. Her bed was sounding pretty great about now. She yawned. Maybe she'd actually get some shut eye if she went back.

"I will," she said, getting up to her feet. "Good luck with the Magpies, _dear_."

"Sleep tight, Weasley."


	8. Not All Blondes Are The Same a.k.a Come on, Al!

**December 3rd, 2027**

Zara was there.

_This time_, Albus realized, she wasn't a figment of his imagination.

_This time_, Albus assured himself, she wasn't a dream.

_This time_, Albus prayed, she was really _there_.

He could feel the skin of her back, soft against his bare chest, her curls tickling his nose. Once upon a time, he would have pulled away, shielding himself from the offending hair. Instead, he pulled her tighter into him, _closer_, and buried his entire face into the blond tresses.

_Closer_.

No matter how close he held her, she never felt close enough.

Most of the time, she wasn't there at all. Always in his dreams, never in real life. The perpetual siren, lulling him into a feeling of perfect comfort and leaving him an empty shell, yearning for her, _craving _her all over again.

Now, however… he could physically _feel_ her. He _knew_ she was there. She was _real_.

(This wasn't a drill, people.)

And yet he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and truly wake up. He knew that if he did and she wasn't really there, he would feel his heart break all over again.

He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't about to trade this perfect illusory happiness for his real, tangible grief anytime soon.

Reality was for the sane. He clung to madness for dear life.

And so he shut his eyes tighter and prayed that the morning would never come. To Albus these stolen moments always felt like either a second or an eternity, one or the other, the impossible paradox.

Unfortunately, morning always came.

"Al…?" she moaned, slipping away from within his grasp, rolling over and away from him.

Even though he hadn't yet opened his eyes, the spell was broken. Bitterness washed over him, and Albus silently cursed, feeling the illusion slipping from his grasp. He cursed his weakness for not telling himself the truth. He _had_ known all along, that even though the hair had been right… everything else had been _wrong_.

Her smell had been wrong.

Her voice had been wrong.

The way she had _felt _had been wrong.

He felt like the most worthless worm alive, clinging to a warm body just because she had a passing resemblance to _her_.

No one would ever be _her_. No one _could_.

Albus groaned and covered his eyes with his arm not wanting to open them and realize just _how_ wrong he had been. Next to him, the naked form of Melissa Peakes stirred again. "Al…?"

"Not yet," he pleaded, his arm reaching out to pull her closer to him. "A few more minutes."

Who was he kidding? Only himself, that was for sure. The moment was gone and clinging to it would do him no good. And yet he mechanically clung to the placebo laying next to him because, like a goddamned addict, he still _needed_ her.

This felt _familiar_. This had happened before, hadn't it? They'd been here before.

He could feel her warm hands gently cupping his face. "Al, open your eyes," she coaxed, placing a butterfly kiss on his forehead.

"Al, darling," she repeated, this time with a firm voice. Tentatively, he opened one eye and then the other.

The real world stared back at him within Melissa's lovely brown eyes, those eyes that always looked at him as if they could see his fucking soul. They tethered him to reality.

He realized he was hungover.

He realized he'd stumbled into her apartment after the party he'd thrown last night.

He realized that he'd left Scorpius laying in their living room in a full-body bind.

He realized he hadn't told Rose where he'd gone.

He realized he was here yet _again_.

_Fuck_.

"You called out to her," she said, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb. It wasn't an accusation. Melissa Peakes wasn't the sort to accuse. She was beautiful, pragmatic and delightfully fanciful. However, her chief quality had always been the fact that she was _kind_. She was a good egg, the very best of eggs. "Again."

This _had_ indeed happened before. One, two, maybe ten, twenty times…? After a while, he had just stopped keeping track.

"I'm sorry."

_Was_ he sorry, really? Most of the time he just felt numb.

Melissa shook her head. "It's okay, dear." Her large brown eyes were filled with compassion, and he avoided them like the plague. "I just thought you should know." She willed him closer to her and he buried his head into the nape of her neck.

He knew all about it. Saying Zara's name in his sleep was just something he _did_ at this point, much like breathing or shitting. It was part of the reason his other attempts at one-night stands had been so very unsuccessful.

Melissa Peakes _knew_ though.

Melissa knew because she was a friend, not some floozy he'd picked up in a bar.

Most importantly, Melissa didn't mind _because_ she was a friend.

Melissa put up with his crap like a champ. He didn't know how it had started. Some time after the ill-fated break-up, whenever there was a party and alcohol was imbibed in large amounts, he would invariably end up in her bed.

(At the time, he'd gone to a lot of parties and imbibed large amounts of alcohol to convince himself and everyone else that he was 'fucking fine'.)

The naturally occurring phenomenon had been systematically and empirically tested: party plus alcohol equaled Melissa's bed. She hadn't even _been _at some of those parties and yet, like moth to flame, he had still _somehow_ ended up at her flat.

"You can't stay." She stroked his hair and he moaned and held her closer in protest. "No, there will be none of that. Not today."

Oh, look at her, implementing _boundaries_.

"Do I really need to leave?" he whined, his fingers grazing the skin of her waist. He wasn't ready to face real life, petrified roommates and the existential emptiness that he was supposed to endure.

Melissa was the perfect distraction.

"Oh, you don't _need_ to leave. I just _want_ you to." Her tone was soft but firm. "It won't do either of us any good."

Because staying the night did? He eyed her with skepticism.

"Don't you look me in that tone of voice," she quipped pulling back to look at him sternly and he smiled back, recognizing one of his trademark expressions. "It's different. Everyone sleeps at night and it doesn't really matter whether you do it here or at your own place. During the day it's different."

"How so?"

"You know why, my dear." Her brown eyes bore into his green ones and, all of a sudden, he felt very frail, powerless even. "Can't be helped. We've tried it before."

He did know why.

During the day the deceit was bared for all to see. During the day, in broad daylight, when he wasn't drunk or passed out, he _knew _that Melissa wasn't Zara. Which meant that he was flirting dangerously with the boundaries of his sanity and in the process poisoning everything that was still good in their friendship.

During the day boundaries became muddled.

It was always awkward and weird.

"Fine," he grumbled, pulling her close and planting a kiss on her forehead. "But just so you know I was planning to rock your world for two whole days."

A flash out hesitation passed through her face and was gone as fast as it had appeared.

He misunderstood and colored, his face turning a deep beet red.

"It happened _one_ time!" he protested indignantly shaking her hands away. The memory from that unfortunate day came back in waves of embarrassment. "I was tired!"

"No, not _that_, you ninny!" She pulled him close to her again, fighting his not very serious struggle to break free. "Last time we holed up in here—"

He remembered that. One blissful week of not waking up alone. Seven days of Melissa that had helped him get through a particularly difficult month sans Zara.

"Last time… Oh, will you just _listen_?" He obediently stopped resisting and let her nuzzle into him, her voice coming out slightly muffled. "I actually _missed_ you the first few days you were gone. Enough is -"

Guilt washed over him in tidal waves.

She never got to finish the sentence. She was silenced by his lips crashing into hers, her faint protests slowly subsiding until they came to a halt. She melted into him and his hands buried into her hair, limbs becoming entangled until he wasn't sure where he started and where she ended.

Every single time, he told himself that he wouldn't come back. Yet, like the self-serving tosser that he was, he kept returning here, using her and abusing of her good will. Sure, the sex was amazing but that didn't make them fuck pals.

No, this was far more convoluted and fucked up than just friends with benefits. He had, however, promised himself that he would stop this if he even _suspected_ he was hurting her in any way, shape or form.

Rose always said he tended to forget his promises the second they became a nuisance.

He had suspected she was putting on a brave face. (Of course he had, he wasn't stupid and neither was he blind.) But he was also profoundly selfish and too caught up in his own shit to really care. He had just lamely convinced himself that _of course_ she would have talked to him if she was feeling less comfortable about their arrangement. After all, they were friends, even if _he_ was a shit friend.

This had been the first time she had actually _confirmed_ it. Which meant he couldn't go around denying it anymore.

Now what?

He should be bolting for the door and making good his escape.

This needed to stop.

_He_ needed to stop it.

But he didn't.

He couldn't. Because...

Instead, he clung tighter to her. His hands left her curls and his arms wrapped around her waist. One of her legs encircled his torso and her fingers ran feverishly through his hair as the two of them desperately tried to close the already non-existent space between them.

* * *

A few hours later he was finally dressed and at her door. She leaned against the doorframe and held the front of her multicolored robe tight.

"So." Her cheeks were flushed red and her hair was wild and unmanageable, but then Melissa had always been remarkably kissable.

"So," he retorted, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Here we are."

He knew he was avoiding her gaze, but that one smudge on his left shoe was looking particularly interesting right now. From the edge of his vision a bare foot appeared and then another as she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his torso.

"Yup," she murmured and he froze.

The enormity of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks and he wished he could just go back to bed with her and ignore the world forever.

This was _goodbye_. It was a second or two before he managed to shake himself back to awareness. "Yeah." He wrapped one of his arms around her. "It was time." His other hand held the back of her head and absent-mindedly stroked her curls, as if it had a mind of its own.

"You'll be alright."

He gritted his teeth. "I know."

"I will _always _be here." Her hold around his waist tightened before she finally let him go. "Don't forget that."

Now that they had let go, he noticed she was crying. Her brown eyes met his and for the first time in eleven months he couldn't find any pity in them.

Beneath the tears gleamed something very akin to pride.

"I _know_."

She took a few steps backwards and wiped her tears with the back of her hand, gingerly stepping behind the threshold of her door as if to protect herself from him, from _them_.

"Take care, dearest." She offered him a tentative smile and her hand held on tight to the door, nervously swaying it back and forth - never letting it go far, as if the door was the only thing grounding her inside, as if letting it slide even an inch further would make her slide into his arms again.

"Goodbye, darling," he replied, the corner of his mouth curling upward to meet her grin. "We should make time for coffee sometime."

"I would like that very much."

And then the door had been softly shut and the impossible farewell had been delivered.

They both knew this was the last time he'd seek refuge here. Even if he did, he wouldn't find it, at least not _this_ kind of solace. They both knew he would possibly, nay, probably try, driven by an addled and drunk brain.

But this was past the point of no return.

For a few seconds, he stared at the shut door, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he came upon the startling realization that _this_? This was done.

Melissa would no longer be a crutch and, deprived of its float, he felt his heart sink.

How was he supposed to cope with it now?

Oh Merlin no, this meant he was going to have to _deal _with it.

_Dealing_ with things wasn't his specialty. He was a Slytherin, his fight or flight instinct was _always_ to avoid, deflect and ignore.

Al's step felt heavy as he treaded down the stairs. He pulled out his Magi-Tech from his pocket to check the time and winced. There were 8 missed calls and 12 unread messages from Rose. He was betting they were a mix of worry and anger, depending on how long it had taken her to find Scorp.

He wasn't wrong.

The messages ranged from "Dear Al, where are you? Love Rose" (because Rose was the sort of person who always wrote texts like your grandma does letters) to "You fucker, Malfoy's toes could have fallen off pick up your bloody phone, Wrath".

Fine, she hadn't really signed "Wrath", but the fact that Rose Weasley hadn't signed anything and hadn't used proper paragraphing was the texting equivalent of using an Unforgivable.

He rubbed the spot between his eyebrows and sighed.

He wasn't ready to take shit from her, not today. Not tomorrow either. The best case scenario would be to avoid the backlash forever, but he figured a few days away would be enough to let Lady Vengeance simmer down.

It had always worked in the past, so statistically speaking… avoidance was _always _the best option.

He opened the street door, stepping foot into the streets of wizarding London. The cold December weather nipped at his bare hands and he stuffed them into his pockets, pulling his jacket tighter around him.

What time was it again?

After last night's antics, Yardley was probably still asleep. That happened to be awfully convenient because he, Albus, could use some sleep himself. Yardley's house was close by and his sofa-bed was also uncannily comfortable. Best of all, Rose Weasley wasn't there.

It was fortunate then that his wand was attuned to Yardley's lock. For emergencies only, of course.

Fancy that!

Over the past three years, he'd lost count of the number of times he'd had an "emergency" that required him to sleep at Yardley's. These "emergencies" usually implied there was a lot of alcohol involved or a conversation that he was keen on avoiding, often times a combination of the two.

This must surely count as an emergency then.

To Yardley's it was.

Albus sighed contentedly at his problem solving capabilities and took broad strides in the general direction of Yardley's flat, counting on his internal compass to get him there. Every once in a while he caught a glimpse of blonde curls or a purple scarf. Invariably he felt his heart skip a beat and his hands instinctively balled into fists before his entire body relaxed again when he realized they weren't _her_.

His head was always left swimming in the mix of relief and disappointment he'd come to know so well.

One day, he was going to have to learn how to deal with the fact that there were other purple scarves and blonde haired birds out there in the world. Maybe at some point, his head would stop incessantly running through all those highly unlikely scenarios. He always pictured running into her on the street and her begging his forgiveness.

'_Oh Albus, what a fool I've been'_, the Zara in his mind would say. _'Breaking up with you was the biggest mistake of my life.'_

The real Zara would never say anything of the sort, of course, it was just the ghost she'd left in him that was becoming more and more dramatic - tragic even. His mind insisted on running the simulation, over and over again, pondering on all the possible and impossible scenarios.

There were the ones where he rejected her with fine aplomb.

There were the ones where he just held her tight and never let go.

Thinking about how much of his brain power was wasted daily on these flights of fancy was a little depressing. If only he could get all those moments back, he would probably have the time to find the solution to all five of the infamous unsolved Charms problems in one fell bloody swoop.

If only Zara knew how she was stunting the progress of mankind she'd probably reconsider her horrible life choices.

Humanity's loss. And all for what? Because she hadn't "felt the same anymore".

Anger flooded him in waves that raged and stormed and crashed. He welcomed the anger, it made him feel the most like himself that he had in all these eleven months. Anger beat self-pity. It beat sadness and anxiety. Anger was the closest to sanity he'd been. It made him stop wondering what was wrong with him and ponder what the hell had been wrong with _her_.

At least for now, anger was alright.

Maybe one day he would stop being angry. Maybe he'd be okay.

It occurred to him that he had started using the word "maybe". "Maybe" was a hell of a lot better than "never", which had been his go to up until now.

_Maybe_.

He tested the word, rolling it in his mind, giving it a whirl, trying it on for size.

Maybe, just maybe, one day he'd be able to see blond hair and not panic about whether his hair was curling wrong or that he had picked a less engaging outfit.

(Because seeing him with the right hair and the right outfit would certainly make her see the error of her ways and rue the day she'd dumped him, yes, thank you very much.)

Maybe one day he'd be able to step foot into his favourite coffee shop again without dreading meeting her there.

Maybe he'd be able to bloody enjoy _cheesecake_ again.

Maybe arbitrary purple pashminas in the middle of the street would stop randomly giving him heart attacks.

He was surprised, but 'maybe' fit.

_Huh_.


	9. Sometimes Life Bats A Metaphorical Bludger at Your Face

**December 3rd, 2027**

This was the stuff. Wind in his hair and the ground way back down there, far away from him - exactly where it should be. That endorphin rush just couldn't be matched by anything in the world.

Anyone who claimed sex was better than Quidditch just hadn't had enough of either.

The adrenaline pumping through his veins was as intoxicating now as it had been the first time he'd stepped foot onto the pitch. No matter how the world changed around him, _this_ didn't.

It was the reason he got up every single morning, his daily dose of sheer, undiluted joy.

Scorpius had always felt throttling 149 lbs of iron at people's heads to be oddly therapeutic.

A bludger hissed toward one of the Chasers on his team and he intercepted it, his bat connecting with the menace and knocking it right back toward McCormack, who had thrown it in the first place. It smashed against his shoulder, making the lumbering man fumble and drop his bat, nearly knocking him off his broom.

McCormack cursed loudly and dove to catch his bat, with gritted teeth and his hand clasping his injured arm.

Scorpius threw him a glance over his shoulder and sniggered, before he plunged in pursuit of the second flying little bugger. He didn't need to look to know where it was, he was attuned to it.

He just _knew_.

At some point in his Quidditch career, his brain had rewired to instinctively keep track of the murderous pieces of hulking metal. He could hear the stray one whistling on the other side of the pit, _feel_ it even, with every single molecule of his being.

He leaned forward, gaining momentum, trying to overcome the pesky bludger, then flying toe to toe with it until he finally overtook and cornered it. He could feel it biting his heels, fiercely trying to catch the asshole who was taunting it. He finally turned around and gave it a whack right before the bludger smashed into him, hurling it toward Kelsey Adams.

The other players around him gasped and he tried to tone down the inevitable smirk that was growing on his lips. The girl hadn't seen it coming and was caught unaware. It crashed into her, toppling her over and sending her pummeling toward the ground.

He _lived_ for this shit.

It made waking up before dawn worth it. It made the endless practicing in the rain worth it. It made sore muscles worth it.

It _almost_ made up for the lack of recognition.

* * *

Scorpius stepped away from his broom, his brow glistening with hard earned sweat.

He exchanged handshakes and polite nods with his improvised team and offered a few congratulations to the battered Magpies. His team had lost, of course, but the Magpies had been beat up real good.

Most of them had been on the receiving end of one or more brutal bludger shots. While he could feel they were the teeniest bit impressed, he mostly sensed resentment. In his opinion, it was misplaced, but he knew it was coming from a good place.

Kelsey Adams was their greenest Active Player, a muggleborn Dark Horse, plucked fresh out of Hogwarts. She was the Magpies' Baby, protected, loved and a wiz with the Quaffle.

He, on the other hand, was the asshole who had just broken her wrist.

Technically speaking, McCormack was the one who wasn't there to deflect the Bludger so it wasn't really _his_ fault. It was their job to maim, disable and remove players from the pitch just as much as it was to babysit their own players and guarantee that they didn't get maimed..

He did his due diligence though, bowing at the injured Chaser's altar.

She was sitting in the bleachers, bandaged wrist lying on her lap, the white of the cast contrasting with her tan skin. They nodded at each other, and he leaned close by against the banister. For a few minutes they silently watched the rest of the team proceed with their daily drills, both completely immersed.

It was he who broke the silence.

"Sorry about that."

She looked put off for a brief instant and then turned to look at him, mirth in her green eyes. "No, you aren't." A grin tugged at her lips. She looked pale. The pills probably still hadn't done their job. "Neither should you be."

She was right, he wasn't. Not really.

"Some people think it's personal."

"I was in Slytherin with you," she shrugged. "I saw you shelling out worse back then."

So _that _was why she had always looked familiar. He scanned her face hoping for anything other than vague recognition and realized he had nothing.

She might have been in Slytherin with him, but he sure as heck hadn't been in Slytherin with her.

"Oh no, you wouldn't have noticed me," she retorted, as if reading his mind. "You didn't really care back then."

He hadn't cared, not for a minute. The only reason why he was now aware of her existence was because it was his job to know.

Back at Hogwarts, however, the number of people that he had felt that he _needed _to know was significantly lower and he had given himself the luxury of not giving a fuck about, well, anyone. There had been Albus of course and one or two others. But generally speaking, he didn't give a rat's ass about what happened to anyone else.

He especially wouldn't have cared about some quiet slip of a girl.

"I just have a horrible memory for faces, really!" he lied, grinning back at her. "I'm sure if I didn't I would have remembered you."

He wouldn't, of course. His brain tended to erase this sort of useless intel. He had been _raised_ to care, but he tended to fight those instincts with every inch of his soul.

The very word 'networking' gave him hives.

"Of _course_ you'd have remembered her," someone chimed from behind him.

He would have recognized that voice anywhere in the whole wide world.

He felt himself relax and turned to grin at the beaming face of the girl clad in a dress and high heels that always looked oh-so-wrong on her tall and athletic frame.

"Gwen Vane, as I live and breathe!"

Gwenog Vane wasn't pretty by any standards, conventional or otherwise. She had a slightly horseish face and was outrageously tall, with a muscular build. What she did have were unusually large dark eyes that contrasted with her pale skin and a rich, warm voice that could make stone melt.

That and she was one of the few people in this world who he considered a friend.

She closed the gap between them with a few quick strides and threw herself into his arms, hugging him close for a few seconds before her grip slackened. "In the flesh," she jibed, smirking at him, her crinkling nose almost touching his. "Merlin, you _stink_."

Kelsey was peering down at them from the stands with a look of mild amusement. "Fraternizing with the enemy, Gwen?"

"Scared he'll chuck another bludger at you?" Gwen sniggered while taking a step back, her hand tousling his hair as if he were still a kid. For a girl, she was freakishly tall, tall enough that in heels she could almost look at him level. "I'll escort him from the premises if he misbehaves, don't worry."

He didn't doubt for a moment that she could.

Gwen Vane was… well. Gwen Vane was something else.

Her namesake was Gwenog Jones, the legendary Captain of the Harpies. Not only that, she'd been groomed from birth to follow in her father's equally legendary footsteps playing Chaser for Puddlemere.

Rumour had it that Gwen had learned to fly before she could even walk and anyone who had ever seen her fly on the pitch would swear by it. Gwen looked out of place on land, as if she were trying to manage her oddly large limbs and failing miserably. She always looked awkward and gangly and just plain uncomfortable.

Gwen in air was an entirely different spiel.

She flew with effortless grace. She was a goddamned siren of the skies, soaring and floating as if it were a piece of cake. She had made it all look so _easy_.

She had been _glorious _while sitting on a broom. Mesmerizing even.

Scorpius had always been mad about her. They'd met as kids in the stands of a Puddlemere game. Her parents had been friends with his and they'd shared a box on the day that marked the start of their acquaintance, watching her dad kick Chudley Cannons' ass.

Instead of scorning the kid that she was stuck with, like any ten year old worth her salt would have, she'd welcomed him with open arms. Despite the fact that she was four years older than him, she'd treated him like he wasn't another snooty six year old. She'd treated him as a peer, a fellow fan.

He'd been in awe of her ever since. She was the closest thing to a sister he'd ever had.

She had hardly stepped foot into Hogwarts before Gryffindor had recruited her for their team. Reckless and bold, she'd been a perfect fit for the House of the Foolhardy and Ill-Advised.

"So how's the traitor's life treating you?" he asked, a smirk dancing on his lips. "Was selling your soul really worth it?"

There was another thing about Gwen Vane that made her a woman after his own heart.

She had shit all over everyone's expectations when she realized she didn't _want_ to be a Pro Quidditch player. A mere two months after she'd started playing for Puddlemere she'd declared, laughing as was the norm, that 'it wasn't for her'.

She'd moved out of her parents' house, ignored the media's protests while working odd jobs and eventually became a scout for the Magpies instead.

She'd flipped them all the bird, always marching to the beat of her own drum.

If that wasn't badass, he didn't know what was.

"Real mature you brat," she sniggered in return, merely shaking her head at his taunt. "I've got something for you. See you Kels!" The girl nodded in assent, her curious look shifting to 'oh well' and she linked her arm with his, pulling him away from Kelsey's keen gaze.

"I haven't seen you in a while," he replied, giving her an appreciative once over as they walked to a part of the bleachers that was more secluded. "You almost look like a girl."

"Incredibly, so do you," she snorted, removing a slip of parchment from her purse. "I'm here to give you this."

He took the paper, his brows knitting together as he read the first few sentences.

_'Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_The Montrose Magpies are pleased to offer you the position on Beater, Active Player—'_

"Really?" He looked up to meet her shit eating grin and arched an eyebrow. "I haven't even stepped out of the pitch."

"It was just a formality." Gwen shrugged, planting a palm on his forehead and giving it a nudge backwards. "The second you said yes to the match I had the paperwork all drawn up and ready."

Scorpius's lips twitched. "That desperate huh?"

The past two seasons had taken their toll on the Magpies' morale. After their former Captain and their Keeper had left, the team had never quite recovered. Without the glue that had held them together, the seasoned players and the new arrivals had been thrown off their game.

Regardless of how many hours they put in the pitch, they would never really mesh unless some serious changes in personnel were made.

Which was what he was.

Change. Fresh blood with prior experience.

He was the perfect fit.

"You weren't playing worth a shit, but you still gave McCormack a run for his money." Gwen pulled a face. "It's all I wanted, really."

"I'm going to be straight with you, Gwen –"

"Don't give me that crap and read the goddamned offer to the end, Scorp," she huffed. "You can thank me later."

He did just that, his eyes swiftly perusing the rest of the document.

_'You will be starting at your earliest convenience. The starting salary will be—'_

"What… the…." He gave a low whistle. "This can't be right."

Had they mistakenly added two, wait, three digits?

"It sure is." Her trademark Cheshire grin grew. "I told them to nab you while they could."

"That's a whole lot of money." It was an _outrageous_ amount of money. What was that in a month? Scorpius did the mental math and inhaled sharply.

That was a whole lot of brooms. And a whole lot of trips. And a whole lot of… _wow_.

"I know what Puddlemere is paying you and I personally think it's a disgrace," she quipped, grabbing both his hands and shaking them excitedly. "Say you'll take it! I'll take amazing care of you."

"Gwen, I'm not playing for the Magpies." He had never, not once considered actually taking this job. He knew the odds of getting it were high, but his resolve had always been strong. Puddlemere was his team, his home, his family.

This? This was just money, he told himself. Everyone knew that money couldn't buy happiness. I mean, just look at his grandparents. They had been loaded and had also been the most miserable people he'd ever known.

It was still a ridiculous amount of money - oh Merlin, why were there so many zeroes?

"But you deserve this!" she clucked, dropping his hands with frustration. "Those twats at Puddlemere don't know what they have. They've got you benched, for Merlin's sake!"

Her large eyes beckoned to him.

'Come to the dark side', they said.

'We have money and actual appreciation for your skills', they said.

The answer was clear in his mind. "Not a snowflake's chance in hell." It physically hurt him to reject it but he handed the parchment back to her, shaking his head.

"You won't get another offer like this, Scorp." She hesitated for a second and then seemed to make a decision. Her eyes became fierce and she grabbed the hand that had the parchment, not taking it, rather tightening his own grip around it. "This here? This is your best shot at the Cup."

She was just playing dirty now. The look in her eyes was the same she'd had when she was playing Quidditch.

Focused. Deadly.

"Wasn't that your goal?" she purred, like the devil she was. She dropped his hand and he crumpled the parchment in his hand. "The Cup before you were twenty-three?"

He swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry.

Gwen had an unfair advantage: she knew him. She knew this particular piece of intel about him because she had been the one he had talked to after leaving Hogwarts.

Back then he had been interning at the Ministry for two months, his soul being sucked dry a little at a time.

Gwen had been the one who had told him to go for it.

Gwen had been the one who'd gotten him in touch with the Puddlemere Scout.

For all intents and purposes, Gwen had been the one who had made him.

He owed it all to her.

And she knew it.

"My, my, my, Gwen." He tutted, shaking his head. "You seem to be conveniently forgetting a teensy, tiny detail about my life goal. Such as, oh I don't know, the fact that I want to win the Cup… _with_ Puddlemere."

He might have been sorted into Slytherin, but there sure as hell was a lot of Hufflepuff in him.

"Twenty-three is just around the corner, Scorp," she retorted, clearly unfazed by his priceless dialectic. "You won't see that Cup."

"Jordan is almost thirty, for goodness' sake," he groaned, much like a child would. Gwen really did bring out the child in him. "He'll be retiring soon."

"They'll replace him with Shaw."

"And right they should, Shaw has seniority. But you seem to be forgetting that Jordan and Elliot are a package deal and when Jordan retires..."

"You'll be passed up."

She didn't even blink.

Scorpius groaned with frustration. "How can you _possibly_ know that?"

Gwen looked at him, opened her mouth as if she were about to say something and then seemed to rethink it and closed it shut. There was something in her eyes that he didn't recognize, which was odd given the fact that he had known her since before he understood what multiplication meant.

"Well?"

She seemed to hesitate, her mouth opening and closing as if she were a fish out of water.

"_Well_?"

"I _know_," she replied simply, shrugging. "I just do."

"You can't just '_know_' you ominous asswipe!" His fingers punctuated the quote marks. Oh wow, Rose was getting to him. "I don't get what you're hinting at."

Gwen sighed and took a few steps toward the bleachers, sitting on one of the benches. The odd expression that he wasn't acquainted with was still in her eyes, which she averted to remove her heels. She patted the seat next to her and he took a seat.

"Spit it, Vane," he drawled, scowling at her.

"Ahhhh, that feels good," she muttered. He was really getting tired of her mediocre stalling tactics and was about to protest, but she shook her head and gave him a slight 'shut up' nudge. "Pop quiz time," she started, curling and uncurling her toes with a sigh of relief. "How long have you been playing for Puddlemere?"

"Three, almost four years?"

She nodded, apparently happy that he was indulging her. "And who owned Puddlemere back then?"

Well this sure was an easy quiz. She was apparently going somewhere with this, he'd just be damned if he knew _where_.

"Sebastian Perry."

"Look at you knowing things," she murmured, planting her feet on the cold ground, her mouth curling into a smile. She looked genuinely happy. "Who owns Puddlemere now?"

"Andrew Bell."

She leaned closer, her eyebrows arching expectantly.

He shook his head in response, shrugging.

"That really doesn't ring any bells for you?" She sighed and then grinned. "Ha, bells, I'm hilarious."

"Is there a point to this?" He was starting to become frustrated. Gwen wasn't really the sort to sugar coat things. "How about we skip to the bit where you tell me what's what?"

"We're getting there." Gwen's smile dropped and she sighed. "How many raises have you gotten?"

"Two."

"Really?!" She seemed surprised. "Wow, I would have guessed at least three. They must be really stingy."

"Yeah, yeah, we get it, Puddlemere is cheap," he scolded, leaning back against his seat. "What else is new?"

The undefined look returned.

"How many raises since Sebastian Perry retired?"

"I don't get what you're trying to say."

For what seemed like the millionth time, Gwen sighed. "Andrew Bell replaced Sebastian Perry what, two and a half years ago?"

He nodded.

"Let me guess, your two raises were _before_ Andrew Bell's mandate."

He nodded again, this time with the slightest hesitation.

What was she saying?

"Since then you've gotten no raises. You've been systematically cut out of every relevant decision making process. You haven't once, not once, been considered for advancement."

"You're telling me what, that this is Andrew Bell's fault?" It was ludicrous. "I've never even _met_ the man!"

Gwen's eyes met his and, suddenly, he realized what the odd look was.

It was _pity_.

"My point exactly. You've playing for the man for the past two, almost three years and you've never even _met _him? How long did it take you to meet Sebastian Perry?"

"That… that was different," Scorpius stuttered. "He hired me!"

Was it so different?

"You can be thick sometimes," she scowled, brushing a hand through her hair and giving it a desperate tug.

"You can be an asshole sometimes," he replied, scowling back. "Get to the point."

She seemed to have a maudlin theory that Andrew Bell was to blame for his decaying career. Why would she even think that?

"Gwen, just… c'mon."

Usually Gwen _knew_ things, though. She knew _everyone_ in the Quidditch world, mingled with players and suits alike. She milked her legacy for all its worth, charming the pants out of anyone who thought she was insane for throwing it all away. They still thought she was insane, but they liked her, loved her even.

That meant that if Gwen said it, odds were that she knew what she was talking about.

"Bell hates you." Wow, that had been brutal. She wasn't sugar coating anything anymore. She sounded oddly calm, which contrasted with the havoc she had just wreaked in his little world. "More accurately, Bell hates your dad. He can't fire you because, well, the Wizarding World would be all over his ass."

It would. After the war, the pursuit of an equal and fair society had become a priority. This fortunately seemed to include him and his family. The media backlash would undoubtedly be phenomenal for a high profile case like his, no matter how many people agreed that all Malfoys should be hung.

"But he won't allow you to move on either." She sniggered, shaking her head. "Grown men can be petty too."

So this was about his dad? Wow.

"Wha-?" He struggled to find the words, his brain moving at a million miles an hour. "Why?"

The War. _Shit_.

"Something about his sister. Probably best if you ask your dad."

His _sister_.

He'd grown up knowing that, just as Albus Potter had been born with an advantage in the eyes of the Wizarding World, he had been born with a handicap. (Judging from the particular way that Al saw the world, both their legacies were bloody awful.)

His parents had prepared him for that, told him that sometimes, people were going to give him shit about who he was.

He had known it was bound to happen at some point… yet it was the first time he had fallen face first into a wall of bias like this one.

For most of his life there had been hurdles. Some were bigger, some were smaller. He'd powered through, unhinged, sometimes unscathed, others livid with anger. History of Magic had been hell, but he'd made it through. The N.E.W.T.s had been a horror but still he'd endured.

Those had been hurdles, mindless prejudice.

This was _personal_.

"I can't. We don't talk about it at home."

Whenever any specifics from the past were brought up, his dad's face fell. His mother, bless her soul, always jumped to his defense, like a fierce lioness protecting her young.

The quiet, calm woman could be surprisingly scathing when she wanted to.

"I don't know the details so I'm definitely not going to be the one to tell you," she continued, leaning back against her chair and stretching her arms above her head, cracking her neck. "I just know that there's bad blood between him and your dad."

It felt oddly relieving to know that it wasn't his fault. That he didn't suck. Usually he _knew_ that he didn't suck. And yet sometimes there was a tiny nagging voice on the back of his brain that told him that he was a failure.

That voice could now go fuck itself.

Did his parents know?

Was that why they'd always acted so off about his job? They had never been openly disapproving about his life choices before the Puddlemere debacle.

His dad had always refused to tell him how he should manage his life. He gave advice when it was requested, sure, but Draco Malfoy would die before he _ever_ told his son that he _needed_ to do… well, anything, really.

And yet, on the topic of his sporting career, Draco Malfoy always remained especially tight lipped. There had always been a tinge of… _something_; he had just always assumed it to be silent disappointment.

His mother, open book that she was, always let out hopefulness in spades. From the reactions he'd gotten from her, she was hopeful that he'd do… well, _anything_ else.

At one point he had made a joke about how he might as well start a side business of selling butterbeer outside, what with the time he spent on the bench, and she'd actually looked _enthused_.

He'd always thought it peculiar that his mother, who had always shown a biblical disdain for anything resembling menial work, would have been thrilled about the prospect of him entering the game snack business.

This just might explain it.

He now wondered just how much of it had been concern or guilt that he'd misconstrued as dissatisfaction.

"I'm not taking the offer, Gwen." Scorpius stiffened ever so slightly, straightening himself on the chair. "I wasn't going to when I came here and I'm sure as heck not taking it now."

He wasn't backing down, especially not now that he knew that his lack of opportunity didn't span, from his own incompetence, as he'd often supposed.

"I'm not naïve, Scor. I know powerplay when I see it," she rubbed the back of her neck, turning to face him. "I know you only tried out to show those dickheads at Puddlemere that you could do better. That even hungover on a goddamned Saturday morning, other teams- other people thought you were _good_."

She was right, of course. Her job was knowing people, reading them.

"I'm not hungover," he protested futilely. "I'm—"

"I don't care," she huffed, carefully untangling the crumpled slip of paper from his hand. "Call it what you want. What I know is that you weren't playing worth a damn, compared to a few other times I've seen you fly." She gently patted his head with the offer, as if by doing so it might permeate his thick skull and start to make sense. "And yet you flew well enough that they signed the paperwork before your feet even hit the ground."

"They did?"

He could feel his ego inflating. Damn her, she was good at this.

"Feels good, eh?" Gwen tapped him lightly with the paper again before handing it to him. "Think about it." She picked up her shoes from the ground and gingerly slipped her feet into them. "Argh, heck. I love my job, but I hate the shoes."

"I'm not going to say yes, Gwen" he replied, his gaze switching from the parchment in his hands to her, not quite sure what to do with it. "Puddlemere was always my team. Heck, you should understand, Puddlemere was _your_ team." His voice had risen an octave and he suddenly felt very tired and very alone.

Who was he trying to convince, really, her or himself?

Gwen's eyes softened as she looked up at him and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, softly ruffling his blond hair with her hand. "It's not your team anymore, Scorp. Your team was the old Puddlemere. The Golden Age Puddlemere."

He could have moved, but he didn't, leaning into her instinctively.

"The Puddlemere we loved was the Puddlemere that had Ackles. We loved the Puddlemere that had Stone and Denver. We loved the Puddlemere that had my dad," she continued, clearly still trying to fight the inevitable with tooth and nail. "Scorp, you can't stay there." She let go of him and their eyes met. "You'll never leave the bench. McCormack and Fisher are retiring. You'll be a shoo-in. We'll bring in whoever you want to bat with you."

She must know by now that he wasn't buying what she was selling.

"I'm hoping these tryouts will change the situation," he replied simply. "Andrew Bell may hate me, but my team sure doesn't. He can't control everyone."

Gwen sighed. He could see in her eyes, those ridiculously large eyes, that she understood. She might not like it, but she understood.

"Want me to spread the word that Scorpius Malfoy is back on the market?"

"Single and ready to mingle," he sniggered. "Free as a bird. Make them squirm."

"I'll personally rub it all over that snivelling recruiter of yours. Maybe that'll make them see the light."

She didn't really look as if she thought they would, but the look in her eyes told him that poor Alfie, the Puddlemere scout, was in for a treat.

"You do know I love you, right?" he asked, giving her a friendly bump with his arm. "You're the best."

"Yeah, yeah. I know," Gwen shrugged, grinning for a second before she turned dead serious. "Scor, if they don't see the light… you _need_ to think this through. You're wasting your best years."

"I will, I promise."

He would, but he wasn't leaving without putting up a fight first. He was going to do his worst and if after that Andrew Bell still didn't let him play… well, he'd be damned if he wasn't going to burn the man's house down and wreck his toys on the way out.

"We should have lunch sometime," she said, getting up from the seat and stretching again. "I know you're basically a shut-in but I've heard you moved with Potter and Weasley." A smile tugged at her lips and she stared without seeing at the players in the distance with an amused look. "It's rather hilarious if you think about it from a historical standpoint."

It was, really. Byproducts of the Golden Trio and the Malfoy family all living under the same roof. He was glad good ol' Lucius was dead, because he certainly would have died from it. He was probably rolling in his grave everytime Scorpius _cooked _for a Weasley.

"It's going oddly well, if I'm honest," he shrugged. "Al is… _well_, Al is Al. And Rose…" His mind went back to the conversation they'd had a few hours prior and he smiled at himself. "Well. Rose Weasley is _something_."

Gwen tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at him ever so slightly. "Book me on your busy schedule sometime, will you? I'd really like front-row seats to see that circus." The bemused look hadn't left her face. "I'd love to meet your little family."

'His little family'.

That was one way of putting it.


	10. Male Bonding Is Icky But Also Hella Funny

**December 7th, 2027**

It was not the first time that Albus Potter, Coward Extraordinaire had sought refuge at Alastair Yardley's Humble Abode. It was also not the first time - and Scorpius suspected, it wouldn't be the last one either - that Scorp had found himself in the awkward position of having to remove him from the premises.

He usually did so grudgingly and at Yardley's behest.

Now let us be clear about something: Scorpius Malfoy did not consider Alistair Yardley a _friend (_at least not in the traditional sense). They were friends-in-law. Throughout their Hogwarts years they had shared an affinity based on the common burden of being part of the innermost circle of Al's friends and acquaintances.

After a couple of years, the pair had resigned to the fact that the other wasn't going to magically disappear any time soon.

It had bred a kinship of sorts.

The first of his barrage texts had read: "Come collect your husband, he's starting to get on my nerves."

It had elicited a derisive snort from the blond boy. If Albus wanted to camp out at Yardley's, that was Yardley's problem.

_Not_ his.

Then, a day later, had come: "Your best friend SHAVED in my bathtub. I'm not sure WHAT he shaved. Come get him before I attempt an Unforgivable on myself."

Scorpius had read it in-between practice and his lips had curled upwards right before he had set the Magi-Tech on _silencio _and gone back to chucking iron at people.

(In fairness, Yardley had always been a drama queen.)

The third and final text was more to the point. "I'll throw in all the butterbeer you can drink if you come get him in the next hour, final offer."

Yardley's wish was Scorp's command. On a regular basis the blond Beater might treat his body as a temple... but in his personal time, free butterbeer was free butterbeer. He wasn't made of money and Yardley wasn't the sort to skimp on quality.

It was therefore against his very beliefs to refuse free beer - just as it was against Yardley's to buy anything worse than Emmerson's Golden.

That explained how he now found himself in front of Yardley's Humble Abode on a Wednesday at 9 o'clock in the evening.

(In his mind, Scorpius always capitalized it because "humble abode" or "Yardley's place" couldn't possibly do it justice.)

(There was absolutely _nothing_ humble about Yardley's Place.)

"I'm here for Alistair Yardley. He's expecting me."

The doorman, Horace, had known him for years and yet he always contrived to look at Scorpius as if he were the unsavoury genetic offspring of gum on the sole of one's shoe and a rodent carrying some distasteful venereal disease.

Lucius Malfoy would have liked him immensely.

Yardley's mum had owned a company that managed magical hazardous waste that still held an outrageous percentage of the market. She had died in an unfortunate accident involving said magical hazardous waste and a firecracker when Yardley was still at Hogwarts.

It had been then that the fourteen year old had come into his… "independence", as he called it.

From what little math Scorp had done over the years, based on his friend's… er… pecuniary habits, Yardley's independence was closer to the gross domestic product of a small African country than to a modest pension.

He stood outside the gilded doors of Yardley's Place until the floppy haired tosser decided to open the doors. "I think I have something of yours," he grinned, tugging his unruly hair with his fingers.

Yardley's hair always looked as if it had survived a hurricane. He suspected Alistair spent quite a lot of time in front of the mirror every morning trying to achieve that particular look.

"Where is the bloody wanker?"

Yardley leaned against the doorframe and spoke loudly, much too loudly for any naturally occurring conversation. "Why Malfoy, what a curious _coincidence_!"

Scorp couldn't help meeting Yardley's enormous grin. His idiocy was the sort that was eager to breed.

It was _contagious_.

"I was in the neighbourhood and decided to pop up for a beer."

"I was _not _expecting you _at all_!"

"Where is he, Yards?"

"In the kitchen," Yardley whispered in a conspiratorial tone, motioning for him to come in. He then raised his voice and shouted: "It's simply _delightful_ to see you! Oh my, have you been _exercising_?!" He wrapped an arm around Scorpius' shoulder and continued in a sotto voice, dragging him along: "Making himself at home, the _wanker_."

Albus was the sort of person who could make himself at home in a bloody minefield. After three days, Scorp would be more surprised if Al _weren't _wearing Yardley's briefs.

He took a few steps into Yardley's lobby and gave the place a once over. "Did you get robbed or something?" The house looked different from the last time he'd come here to get Al.

Emptier.

"Redecorated," Yardley corrected. "Ex-girlfriend was into minimalism," He waved a dismissive hand around and herded him toward the kitchen. "And rock climbing. Tough couple of months."

Always had been nonchalant about worldly possessions, Yardley. The couch on the lobby probably cost more than the entire furniture in their flat, but to Yardley it was just a _thing_.

His living room had the square footage of an olympic swimming pool and yet the bloke always hung out in the kitchen. The man had three empty bedrooms and two bathrooms permanently locked shut because they, and he quoted, "made the house feel too big".

"She wanted everything gray and white, it was ridiculous -"

Scorpius' mind tuned out Yardley's droning and treacherously drifted to the Magpie's offer as it had so often in the past three days. He'd carefully folded the paper and stuck it into his wallet. He still wasn't going to take it and yet his brain kept wandering to the number on the paper.

"Super into nature and exercise. Did I mention the rock climbing? It was bloody awful, she insisted I-"

Those zeroes could have been translated into a series of very expensive couches of his own. And brooms. And Rose could have pestered him about saving 10%, even 15%, and it wouldn't have made a significant dent in the ridiculous amount.

"And the food, don't get me started on the food! It was all green-"

But _no_, he had to have _principles_.

"- no protein! I got used to the furniture after a while, it's kind of feng shui-"

"Oh, can it, Yardley."

"That's just hurtful, Scorp my boy. I thought we were _bonding_."

A voice sounded from the kitchen: "Is that Scorpius Malfoy I hear?"

Yardley walked into the kitchen and went straight for the fridge. "In the flesh." There was a sort of wink-wink-nudge-nudge smile on his face as he opened the door and turned to ask: "Butterbeer?"

"Sure thing, Yards."

The first of many, one would hope.

"Good to see you Scorp!" Albus straightened himself up, gracing him with a smile that expressed very little guilt for having absconded him in a full body bind. "Did Horace give you the stink eye again?"

"Always," Scorpius sighed in mock dejection. "Horace is very disapproving of me, y'know."

"Took him _years_ to warm up to me," Albus quipped, shaking his head. "He thought Yards and I were in a secret relationship. Which is ridiculous of course, because it was the time when everyone 'knew' _we _were in a secret relationship."

There had been plenty of rumors at Hogwarts. Surprisingly enough, the idea that they might be gay had only helped their odds with the finer sex.

Girls were weird like that.

"Told 'im you two were an item a few times," Yardley stated, handing Scorpius a beer and taking a seat next to him. "He didn't buy it. I think he thinks you stole Al from me and hasn't gotten over it since then. Very protective of me, Horace is."

Albus raised his partially empty beer bottle and Yardley and Scorpius held out with their own, clinking the three of them together.

"So Al," he started in a casual tone. "It's been five days."

"You know how it is," Yardley quipped, "he came here for a visit and then remembered how superior I am to you in every possible way."

"Sod off, Yardley."

"It's my house, you tosser, I ain't doing anything of-"

"Don't mind him, Yards my boy," Al interrupted, a smile on his face. "He's just peevish because he missed me most dreadfully."

It was true of course, but Scorpius would be damned if he ever admitted it.

Albus collected friends like they were chocolate frog cards, amassing the mismatched bunch without any apparent rhyme or reason.

Scorpius, on the other hand, did not. His friends were few and far between. He liked to call himself 'picky' when the truth was that he was a bona fide snob when it came to the people he chose to associate with.

It wasn't that he was a snob like his father had been, oh no. He just disliked everyone equally.

Mind you, he wasn't friendless, per say. There was Gwen, of course. There was Kate Towler. There was Charles… oh, posh, he had people, alright? It simply meant that whenever Albus was gone he always felt utterly and profoundly _lonely_.

"If you'd like me to, I can leave you two lovebirds alone." Yardley sniggered.

"Oh, can it Yardley," Albus chimed in, unruffled with the remark.

"I don't know how you two survived all these days," Yardley continued, examining his bottle with a musing look, "what with you being his other brain cell and all."

Both him and Albus expressed a few nasty expletives in a vain effort to explain to Yardley just how much of a fucking tosser he really was.

"It's all loving words with you guys," Yardley protested, in tones of mocked hurt. "You're giving me this uncanny feeling like you guys don't _want_ me here."

"Give the man a prize." Scorp rolled his eyes and took another swig of his beer.

"Unusually sagacious of you, Yards."

"Such a pity this is _my_ home," Yardley replied, getting up from his seat and retrieving three new bottles. "You boys want to take your homoerotic affair elsewhere, it's fine by me, but I'm not leaving my own darned kitchen."

"On a brighter subject… _you-_" Scorpius took the beer from Yardley and murmured a thanks before turning to Albus and giving him a look that might have freezed over hell. "_You_, my friend, are in trouble.

"Oooh, I'm shaking," Al returned the look with a hint of teenage defiance that he was yet to overcome.

For someone so brilliant, Albus had always been impossibly childish - even by Scorpius' standards.

"Not from me, you knob," Scorpius retorted, clinking his beer against Yardley's. "Rose was worried stiff about you."

"Shame on you Al," Yardley said, "for making Rose worried stiff."

The pair of them were now attempting to present a united front of adulthood and responsibility.

"Rose, schmose," the childish Object Of Their Reproach retorted, frowning a little, his color rising. "I'll pick her being worried over angry any time of day."

"She was _prostrate_. Didn't eat or sleep for days." Scorpius said, in a carefully modulated tone before his facade was cracked by a rogue grin. "Of course that may be due to the fact that she's studying again and therefore her brain has forgotten the concepts of 'rest' and 'nourishment' all over again."

"That's nice, you can go home now!" Yardley was looking a bit too pleased. "I'll bet she doesn't even remember your name."

"You guys are assholes, the pair of you!" The Object Of Their Reproach was becoming Weasley flushed at this point. "I thought you liked having me around!"

Albus had never been any good with confrontation. Scorpius almost took pity on him.

Keyword being 'almost'.

"Seriously though, you should answer people's calls," he attacked with renewed vigour. "I tried you a few times and nada. You could have died for all I knew."

That was of course unlikely, but it was Rose's strongest argument to defend her histrionics. Clearly she'd never bunked with him before, or she'd be more familiarized with Al's disappearing act.

"I-I've been busy!"

"Yeah, busy eating my food and drinking my beer!" Yardley retorted, clearly bemused. "Take him away Scorp, I don't know how you tolerate this asshole. He's been wearing my clothes too. He stretched my favorite sweater."

How, Scorpius wouldn't be able to tell. Albus might be the tallest of them but he was also the gangliest.

"As much as it pains me to agree with Yardley, the tosser is right," Scorpius continued. "Come home you asshole. Rose isn't going to tear you a new one. I'm not going to either."

Heaven knew it wouldn't penetrate that thick skull so what was the point, really?

Scorpius ought to have kicked his ass, though. Rose's level of concern had risen from anger to near panic at some point in the first two days. It had been amusing at first, and yet he'd never been more thankful than when she'd been clubbed over the head and rendered comatose by that new essay from hell.

"He'd be running for the hills before you even started." Yardley gave Albus one of the pointed stares he was famous for. "I almost resent the fact that he only visits when other people decide to scold him."

"I do not, Yards, I spent half my time here not even two months ago."

"Because your parents scolded you!"

"Seems 'bout right," Scorp agreed and then quietly laid down his beer in front of him. "I wanted to tell you that I tried out for the Magpies, you wanker."

There it was. Out. In the open.

A few years ago, Yardley's mere presence would have deterred Scorpius from having the mildest of conversations with Albus. Now, however, Yards was like a piece of really annoying furniture that he kept stubbing his pinky toe against.

(In truth, it just meant that Yardley was a friend, not that Scorpius would have even considered that a possibility.)

(Seriously, everyone knew it except him.)

"But you hate the Magpies," Yardley protested in horrified tones, as if he'd just told them that he enjoyed eating newborn babies. "You despise them!"

"How the fuck do you know I hate the Magpies?" Scorpius turned, and glared at Yardley. "I never told you that."

"Because you're not my only friend, you tosser," Albus clarified with an infuriatingly patronizing tone. "I talk to people other th-"

"Oh shut up." Yardley hushed him and put on his best I'm-such-a-great-listener-look-at-how-focused-I-am face. "How did it go?"

"I resent the fact that he's more into this than you," Scorpius protested, glaring at Albus. "Does the name Bell… ring a bell?"

Oh Merlin, kill him now.

He was recycling Gwen's jokes, for Morgana's sake!

"Oh, Merlin, kill me now," Yardley groaned burying his face on his hands. "That was so bad."

Shit.

"Andrew Bell who owns Puddlemere…?" Albus looked slightly confused. "Yeah, I mean, I know _of_ him, never met the man myself..."

This seemed like a poor reenactment of his conversation with Gwen. It was déjà vu of the pathetic kind.

"Brilliant of you, but not that Bell. The _name_ Bell," Scorpius clarified, adding for good measure: "Have your parents ever said anything about a Bell? Not Andrew. From their time at Hogwarts?"

"Well..." Al's face furrowed with the concentration of one who doesn't really listen when his parents drone about the good ol' days, trying to find information within the garbled bits stored in his mind. "Katie Bell was on their Quidditch Team, I think…?"

"Elsie's mum?" Yardley's eyebrow rose with apparent recognition and he nodded. "Yeah, I think she played Quidditch for Gryffindor with your dad. Chaser, I think."

Who the hell was Elsie?

"Yeah, that would be her," Albus said. "I wonder how you know more about this than I do."

"Because I'm an educated sort of fella, whereas you just ain't."

Scorpius cleared his throat. "Elsie...?"

"Elsie Goshawk," Yardley clarified for his benefit. "Ravenclaw, a year younger than us. Dated Fortescue for a while. Amazing rack, a face that looked like she had been trampled on by a hundred angry elephants?"

Scorpius shook his head. The name Elsie Goshawk meant nothing to him. Should it?

"You wouldn't know her," Al reassured him, taking a nonchalant swig off his beer. "She wasn't into Quidditch, so you'd have missed her entirely."

"I think her younger brother is though," Yardley added helpfully, "he's playing for Gryffindor."

Still didn't ring any bells.

"What else do you know about her mum?" Scorp inquired.

Eesh, this was almost as bad as the Gwen conversation. Like pulling teeth.

"Not much," Albus' brow furrowed a little and then he shook his head. "What's it to you?"

"Nothing about my dad?"

"Not that I know of," Al shrugged. "Why, you think Elsie with the face like an unmade bed may be your long lost sister?"

"I can see the family resemblance," Yardley sniggered, "though your rack isn't half as nice as hers."

"_Urgh_. Why do I even try?"

"Ignore him. What's up?"

"Apparently Andrew Bell has it in for my dad."

Yardley whistled low.

"Plenty of people hate your dad," Al shook his head in confusion. "What's the issue?"

Here was The Point and over there was Albus Potter, missing it entirely.

"Yeah, but Andrew Bell is the only one of them who _owns_ his ass," Yardley explained, patiently. "It's inconvenient."

"Very true," Al replied, still looking unconvinced. "Unless you count the asshole who evaluated our Arithmancy N.E.W.T.s. Why is this a problem though?"

Yardley groaned. "What part of _owns_ his ass don't you get?"

"You're unusually bright today, Yards," Scorpius pointed out concernedly, raising a hand to measure his temperature. "Are you alright?"

"It's the company, I'm rubbing off on him," Al grinned as he watched Yardley swatting away Scorpius' hand. "What can Bell _do_ to you, anyway? You're already on his team, it's not like he can fire you."

"According to Gwen Vane, he's the one keeping me benched."

"I always thought you were benched because you weren't up to snuff," Yardley offered in jest. "That and because two people would need to retire for you to get a shot at the big leagues."

It was technically true.

But it was also true that most teams retired their players when they were growing moldy, like Jordan and Elliot.

"If I talk to my parents I'd like to see how long _that_ lasts." Albus quirked an eyebrow, a look of defiance briefly crossing his face.

Yardley on the other hand was looking rather amused, as if this were all a game and a rather hilarious one at that. "You could do him one worse and tattle to Aunt 'Mione."

"Uncle Ron will be _pissed_," Al added, visions of raining fire and blood came to mind at the very thought of the Granger-Weasleys being involved. "They'd tear him apart. The bloke would have to flee to Chile or something."

"Chile is really nice, he doesn't deserve Chile," Yardley quipped, grinning. "But yes, Bell won't know what hit him."

"It's just conjecture at this point!" Scorpius protested. "I don't have _proof_."

"Proof-schmoof," Albus huffed waving a dismissive hand. "Mum and dad have been madly in love with you since that Christmas you made Ever-Burning Amortentia Candles for them. They'd flip their _shit_ if they caught a whiff of this."

"Wouldn't know what hit him." Yardley grinned. "Aunt Gin would turn Andrew Bell into a goddamned pin cushion."

The two of them were so simplistic. It comforted him a little to know there was a solution at the tip of his fingers. However...

"You can't tell them." Scorp shook his head. "Not yet at least."

"Why not?" Yardley looked frankly puzzled. "The more the merrier I say. It'll be a slaughter fest."

"I need to talk to my dad first."

Not that he knew _how_ he was going to broach the subject, really. 'Hey dad, some fucker really hates your guts. I suspect you already knew this and, if so, why didn't you tell me? Also I'm thinking about getting the Golden Trio involved to save the day, how _do_ you feel about that?'

Yeah, those were the grounds for a conversation with his parents going very south, very fast.

"What good will that do?" It was Al's turn to look puzzled.

Ah, Al's notorious dislike for talking to his hero parents was showing again.

"I don't know," Yardley huffed, "because _people_ talk to their parents even though _you_ don't?"

"You never cease to amaze me, Alistair," Scorpius said, throwing him an approving look. "Yup. Because _we_, unlike you, have outgrown our teenage years of angst and actually trust our parents' judgement."

"I don't talk to my parents because-"

Al's protest was cut short.

"Because they don't understand?" Yardley quipped, snorting.

"Because you're the poster boy for Middle Child Syndrome?" Scorpius offered.

"Because you're a teenage girl?"

"Because-"

"Oh sod off, you fuckers," Al interrupted. "There's nothing weird about not running to one's parents crying whenever shit hits the fan."

It was true, of course. But in Al's case he did it for all the wrong reasons, like a misplaced certainty that he was the least favourite child out of the three and that he somehow needed to prove himself worthy.

Which was ridiculous, since anyone who had been in the same room as him and his parents would have been able to tell with absolute certainty that Albus was their golden child.

Anyone except Albus.

"Whenever shit hits your fanny, _we're_ the ones who need to hear about it," Yardley offered, draping an arm around Al's shoulders and giving him a tap on the forehead. "And _we're_ not equipped to deal with real problems yet."

"Plus," Scorp added, though not unkindly. "You didn't hesitate to bring them into this the second you heard I was in trouble."

For which he was really thankful, mind. It was just sad that Albus couldn't see his parents would move mountains for him if he only _asked_.

"That's privilege for you," Yardley sniggered, pulling away from Albus and getting up to fetch himself another beer. "Oooh, I'm so independent… until you need something from almighty and powerful mummy and daddy."

Al looked dumbstruck by the notion.

"I fucking _am _independent, thank you very much," he growled, getting up and testily swiping the beer bottle from Yardley's hands. "And my parents don't have that kind of pull, just Aunt 'Mione does, 'cause of her being, y'know."

The British Minister of Magic.

"Don't have that kind of pull, really?" Yardley groaned, pulling another two beers from the fridge. What was it, their fourth? Fifth? "Your dad so much as _farts_ and the next day there's an article on the Prophet about how his gas cures juvenile cancer."

(This was true. Aunt Gin had found it priceless and she'd had the page framed and hung on the wall.)

(It was a recurring joke in the Potter household to poke fun at The Boy (now Man) Who Lived about how, whenever there was a less pleasant aroma in the air, 'none of them had cancer so if he could kindly stop trying to cure them it'd be swell'.)

"I wonder if it's genetic," Scorpius mused pensively.

"You and I both know it ain't, Malfoy," Yardley replied, patting his shoulder. "We both know it ain't."

"Why the fuck do all of our conversations end up being about my parents' farts?" Albus groaned, burying his face on his hands. "We're better than this!"

"Well, you may be, but it's what us commoners who weren't born of the Golden Trio do to pass the time," Yardley explained, enunciating each word carefully. "What _do_ all of you War Hero spawn do for fun?"

"What were we talking about anyway?" Al's face dropped from his hands and he hit the counter with his forehead. "You guys, please kill me."

Oh yes, the actually relevant topic they had been discussing.

"This started as a conversation about how I'm supposed to deal with my doomed career."

"Ah yes, your doomed career," Al said, lifting his head and meeting his eye. "All this edifying debate made me forget about it."

"That's what happens when you hang out with brilliant conversationalists like Malfoy and myself."

"I sometimes wonder why I give you two the time of day," Albus moaned. "I need new friends, is what it is."

"Because I'm a fucking delight and because you feel sorry for Malfoy."

"You're a wanker, Yardley."

"Takes one to know one, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous that I'm taller than you."

"Are we starting the dick measuring portion of our evening?" Al interrupted, with an exaggerated eye roll. "Because I could do without."

"Al," Yardley asked in a singsong voice, "tell him I'm the handsomer of the two."

"I will do no such thing, Yards. The consensus of the female population elected Scorpius the king of Handsome."

"Even Rose admits it," Scorpius sniggered, remembering the incident when she had accidentally complimented him. "She thinks I'm _pretty_."

"She does," Albus confirmed. "And what's more, she's essentially blind when it comes to the male population, so it's kind of a triumph."

"Is she out of the closet yet?"

Sometimes Yardley, for all his wit and charm, was a sodding little asswipe.

"Just because she doesn't give you the time of day it doesn't make her a lesbian, Yardley." Albus' eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. "As far as I know she's straight as an arrow. I just don't think she _cares_."

"It's kind of demeaning how much she doesn't fucking notice," Scorpius brooded with a dramatic sigh. "I could parade around the house naked and I doubt she'd even acknowledge I was there."

He'd once left the bathroom with only a towel and she'd looked straight _through_ him, lost in her little world. It had been almost insulting. He had to go spend half an hour in front of the mirror just to make sure that his abs hadn't gone missing.

"That's just because it's _you_ parading around the house naked," Yardley snorted derisively, "who in their right mind would want to see that?"

Al laughed heartily at his comment. "You could wrap your dick with a _bow_ and she wouldn't even spare it a glance, Yards," he deadpanned.

"It would have to be a big fucking bow."

_Eesh_.

"I just remembered why I think you're a prat," Scorpius sighed. "This isn't worth all the butterbeer in the world."


	11. Thrown Off The Deep End

**December 18th, 2027 - 16h45**

Rose's forehead felt cool against the table top. It was a nice contrast with the cold sweats and breathlessness that seemed to accompany her whenever she was balancing rotations, classes and exams.

Sitting on her right side was Jesse Boot. She could hear his famous impression of Healer Ogden from under the heavy haze she was in.

"You have to be realistic, my dears, realistic!"

It was famous not so much because it was accurate but because it had an uncanny way of summoning its impressionee. Rose lifted her head and looked around, scanning the room for Ogden…

_There_ he was.

It was like chanting Bloody Mary three times and poof, the man himself, waltzing into the cafeteria, the ever permanent frown etched on his lined face.

(She felt like she was enveloped with plastic wrap, struggling for breath.)

Sitting on her left side, was Penny Nicholson. She was scarfing down her dessert as if she hadn't seen food in months, not a care in the world. (Apparently, she'd forgotten all about the diet she was supposed to be following.)

Chill Pen. No one's going to steal your shitty cafeteria gello.

"You really should eat something, y'know?" Penny eyed her critically and gave Rose's tray a tentative push toward her. "You look like the living dead. Aren't you hungry?"

Projecting now, are we Pen?

"I'm fine," Rose protested, pushing the tray away, her nose crinkling with disgust. "I-"

What she _wanted_ to say was that felt faint and overwhelmed and the very thought of ingesting food made her stomach churn.

That she couldn't take it.

That she felt like she was underwater.

That people who are drowning tend to need air, not food jammed down their throats.

"I-"

Instead, she stuttered again, coherent words seeming to elude her as they so often did. How was it that she could tear Scorpius Malfoy a new one for not saving 5% one day and then the next have problems producing coherent sentences around people she actually liked?

"Lay off her, Pen." Whopee. Jesse seemed to be taking her side. How generous of him. How, oh how would she survive without this impromptu defense, this knight in shining armor? "Mr. Spalding got sick on her this morning."

Indeed he had, and all over her scrubs. Thank Merlin for Scourgify. Not that it helped, really… To say she looked like shit would be a understatement. A gross one.

(Incidentally "gross" was what she felt like, scourgify or no.)

"What do you have today?"

Always keen on keeping the conversation flowing, Jesse was. It was one of his many remarkable qualities, along with his shitty impressions and dashing blue eyes.

Alas, knowing when to shut the hell up wasn't one of them.

If she had any energy to spare she might have felt annoyed.

"Magical Bugs rounds with Healer Choi." Rose breathed, ripping the corner of a napkin with slightly shaky fingers. She paused for a second and lowered her quivering hands to her knees, willing them to be still. They didn't. "Mostly cases of Shivers lately."

It was almost ironic. Except her shivering was unfortunately not caused by a (curable) magical bug. That would have been too easy.

"My condolences," offered Jesse, his hand rising to his chest for a second before adjusting his glasses. "Choi is always… something."

By Rose's estimation, Choi was just peachy, that is, considering most of her teachers were sadistic, frustrated assholes. If anything he seemed to dislike people even more than she did. It was kind of relaxing, not having to smile all the time. She suspected Choi might have her whipped if she had attempted it, which would explain why Smiling Lil' Jesse had such a poor opinion of him.

"I'm on Clinic today," Pen interrupted with a shit eating grin on her face, green eyes sparkling with excitement. She looked far too happy for someone about to be subjected to the horrors of excrement, diseased genitals and primitive healing. "See if it's today that Thatcher finally lets me stick a needle on someone."

"Muggle medicine is barbaric," Jesse shuddered, grimacing.

"Just because you are a sissy and faint at the sight of a little blood-"

"Well _you_ on the other hand seem to like it too much!" he cried out. "We're healers, not butchers!"

"Calm your titties, mate," Pen replied, Cheshire grin ever present. "I'm just pulling your leg. What do you have today, then?"

"I've got Pediatrics."

Pediatrics was okay. It was heartwarming at the very least.

The crying could drive a person a little nutty if they were sleep deprived. Not Jesse. No, not Jesse. The fucker seemed to be thriving on his three to four hours.

"Jeffers or Fleming?" Pen inquired smiling. She looked genuinely interested, like they weren't talking about the soul sucking leeches that kept them sleep deprived and depressed every single day of their lives. "I heard Jeffers let Finn help with a baby that had Teleportitis."

How did they do it? How did they keep themselves alive, let alone talking? _Joyfully_ at that. Rose herself felt like she was constantly on power saving mode ever since she'd started.

"Flemming."

"Tough luck."

They chattered on amongst themselves, apparently forgetting her in their eagerness to get human contact. They talked trash about other Healers, about their fifth year research project, about their fucking hopes and dreams.

And all the while she kept staring blankly at them and wondering how.

How the hell did people do it?

How were they all well adjusted human beings while she… while she was flailing, _failing_, constantly grasping at straws? Barely functioning?

"I'm going for a smoke."

Had that been her voice? Why was she standing? Already her hand was on her pocket, nervously fumbling for the cancer packet.

"Want company?" Jesse didn't even wait for a reply, already on his feet. Solicitous as ever. _Assuming_ she wanted him to come with her. Assuming she was just as desperate for a smile and a kind word as he was.

Had she had more gumption she might have told him that no, she didn't require his assistance in her quest to slowly kill herself, thank you very much.

That she might enjoy a second alone instead of having to put up with their incessant yapping.

That she was tired, miserable and wanted to enjoy her cigarette in peace and quiet. Maybe cry a little while she wondered why she was such a goddamned mess.

That while her parents had been through far worse and, as far as she'd been told, her mother had never resorted to smokes and tears, _she_ just wasn't as strong.

Instead, Rose nodded. Talking would have been too much of an effort and she just couldn't be fagged.

Pen got up as well and together the three of them dragged themselves to the courtyard, away from prying eyes, where she could contribute another smoke to the ever growing list of things she regretted.

* * *

**December 18th, 2027 - 17h30**

She looked around her, eyes glazed. Spread across the rows of beds, partially hidden away by impeccable white curtains, people writhed and moaned in agony.

Shivers, was spreading like wildfire this Autumn, the magical common cold ravaging children and adults alike. Heat sweats, high fevers, persistent vomiting and uncontrollable shivers, hence the name.

What more could a girl want?

"Miss Weasley...?"

There was a voice calling her, muffled by sixty hours of sleeplessness. It sounded far, far away and her brain pushed it aside..

On one hand, Rose still felt like something you'd find in your shower drain.

On the other was the pain and suffering of the many.

It gave her perspective.

"Miss Weasley!"

It made her own problems seem petty in comparison. She felt small, humbled… and she hated them for it. And she hated herself for being so basic.

"_Miss Weasley_!"

She was startled from her reverie and her blue eyes focused to meet Healer Choi's. It had been his voice calling her. It had been his voice that her brain had tuned out.

Shit.

"Glad you could join us."

She could slowly feel her colour rising as she looked around her, still slow on the uptake. She was in Magical Bugs. From the clock on the wall it was… half past five. Which meant that she had somehow followed them all the way from the lobby to here and had tuned out for half an hour at the very least.

Merlin only knew what they'd been talking about in the meantime.

The reactions of her classmates were varied.

There was Mr. Alec Teacher's-Pet Sauvage, sporting a half grin. If she had to rank him on a scale of exhaustion he'd be maybe a three. His dark eyes were bright, slight bags under them. His hair didn't look disheveled and he was standing straight, proud. He was obviously rejoicing at her being caught unaware. Somehow, Alec seemed to be under the impression that _she_ was competition of some sort, never realizing that, most days, he was the only one playing at all.

Alec was a bloody git.

Then there was Mercedes Do-You-Need-Anything Lewis, a sympathetic look on her angelic face, framed with golden curls. Her blue eyes were compassionate and kind and full of concern for her well being. She was beautiful and gentle and everything one would want in a woman.

Rose wanted to smack her more than she wanted to hex Alec. Harder too.

The third and the last of her esteemed peers present here today was Finn. Finn Binn. He needed no middle name because he was already notorious enough as was. A mop of red hair and freckles that would make her dad jealous crowned his head and face. His awkward gangly limbs drooped and there was a sad excuse for facial hair growing on his upper lip.

As per usual, Finn was too engrossed on Lewis' heaving bosom to notice anything going on around him.

Out of the three he was possibly the only one she had some sympathy for. It wasn't his fault that his smarts only extended to bookish knowledge and that he had absolutely no social skills whatsoever.

Plus, he looked tired. Not as tired as she felt, but tired nevertheless.

And then there was Choi. Lined face frowning at her. Then again, he was always frowning so she guessed she wasn't in too much trouble.

"So… Miss Weasley, now that you're back, can you tell us what we have here?"

She peered at the patient file on her clipboard, her squinting eyes quickly skimming the text.

Squinting because the letters felt blurry and maybe like they were moving a little? Who knew, really?

Nevertheless, squinting helped and reading very, very fast was one of the very few skills she had been given in life; might as well make the most of it.

As usual Alec was far too enthused with the opportunity to hear the sound of his own voice. He jumped right into it, not even pausing for breath.

"Rory Mason, fifty-three, complains-"

And got smacked on the face with a clipboard for his troubles.

"I said Miss Weasley. _Are_ you Miss Weasley?"

Ah, Healer Choi, a man after her own heart. Rose tilted her head to the side and watched as Alec's petulant grin was wiped clean from his face.

"No sir, I'm sorry-"

"Now I truly didn't know your name nor did I care really…" Choi paused and clasped Alec's name tag between his thumb and forefinger, tapping it lightly against the boy's breast. "Alec Sauvage. At some point in the next few months you'll wish I hadn't bothered to learn it."

Alec visibly swallowed. Rose might have grinned, but she was too tired to do anything of the sort. Moreover, her heart still seemed to be locked in a vice of anxiety after being scolded.

"Now, Miss Weasley…"

"Rory Mason," she croaked in response, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. "Fifty-three, complains of eye pain and slowed movements. Some joint pain."

For the first time since she'd returned to the world of the living, Rose actually _looked_ at the patient, lifting a single eyebrow. The man was bleeding from his eyes.

"Medical history includes a few isolated cases of the Shivers along with a case of recurring Spotted Snake."

Spotted Snake was contracted by being bitten by, you guessed it, a spotted snake. They gave the patient eye bleeding and a sort of breathlessness.

(The people who named diseases in the magical world weren't the most creative folk.)

Again she took a look around her.

Alec was still somehow managing to look smug, despite the fact that he had just gotten his ass handed to him. As usual, Lady Pity looked very, very sorry for the poor, poor widdle man. As for Finn…

Finn was a simple man with simple tastes. He had managed to detach his eyes from Mercedes' breasts long enough to realize what was going on and was now looking at the man's bleeding eyes with an air of absolute fascination.

"Talk. Discuss. Examine and talk to the patient. No touching. Five minutes."

Chaos ensued.

Alec and Mercedes were both eagerly talking at the same time, way too fast for her to even bother trying to keep up or pitch in. Trying to be insightful and impressive - she gathered from the way they kept stealing glances at Choi.

It would have been useless anyhow, since none of them were really listening to what the others were saying, overwhelming the patient with questions for answers that they could easily have gotten from the chart.

"It's obviously a recurrence of the Spotted Snake!"

"Spotted Snake doesn't give people eye pain!"

"Sir, have you recently travelled abroad, maybe to Asia or somewhere exotic?"

"It could be Ortug's-"

"Are you an idiot? He complains of joint pain as well!"

"He's fifty-three, not seventy!"

Rose's eyes drifted to her chart again, mostly because what alternative _did_ she have, really?

Her eyes focused on the text. Slowly but surely, the quibbling voices of her classmates were drowned by the rhythmic sound of the written word. Her lips pursed ever so slightly at the patient ID number on the chart.

It was _wrong_.

Not wrong in the sense that it spelled "boobs" when you flipped it around or anything like that. Wrong in the sense that any patient who was fifty-two years old and who had been assigned a number forty something years ago would never have an ID number so close to her brother's.

Which meant Mr. Rory Mason was actually a standardized patient. For all purposes, he wasn't even a person.

She might have laughed. "There's nothing wrong with him." She didn't even look up, the words spilling forth with no filter.

Again, she _might_ have laughed. She certainly felt like it, but she was pretty sure the last time she'd gotten some shut eye had been three days ago. Laughing was _difficult_ when every bit of you ached.

"How dare you say that, Rose? The poor man is obviously in pain!"

"He's _bleeding _from his eyes!"

"Are you completely daft, Weasley?!"

You can probably guess who said what. Rose felt herself shrinking a little at the volley or indignant protests and insults from her peers. She looked up at Choi, tired look conveying a silent question.

He nodded once in response, frown ever present and then added levelly: "He is most certainly _not_ fine, Miss Weasley."

"Don't be a ninnyhammer Weasley, it's at least a recurrence!"

"Rose, how long has it been since you slept?!"

"He is _bleeding._ From his eyes!"

Her esteemed colleagues had obviously missed the interchange.

Fine, so Mr. Mason wasn't really Mr. Mason but Choi _still _wanted her to play ball. That meant the man couldn't just have something obvious like recurring Spotted Snake like Alec was defending, _no_. Dummy patients were usually presented as a ways to introduce students to new situations or diseases.

Which meant she was looking for something strange and/or exotic.

"Right." She shrugged and nodded back. She took a single breath to calm herself. Her eyes widened a little and her nostrils flared slightly before she relaxed again. "Right you are."

What was that _smell_?!

Rose pulled a bench toward herself. Might as well sit down.

She needed to think and her thinking was somewhat... limited at the moment. If the patient was a dummy, odds were she didn't even need to look at him, she'd just need the file.

She took another whiff: there was a very mild metallic aroma on the general vicinity.

And that was when it hit her. It smelled of her previous intuition being _right_.

She might be insane from all the _not_ sleeping, but she was still _right_.

It felt pretty good. She really needed a win today.

(She wanted to rub it on Alec's smug face. She wanted to shout it out to the whole ward that she, Rose Weasley, addled and sleep deprived or not, was the Queen of Irrelevant Paperwork Facts.)

The Two Musketeers - Finn was still too busy gawking at the patient's eyes - went back to their bickering. They argued, compared charts and diagnostics and kept bombarding the patient.

Rose sat quietly, lips slightly pursed, brow furrowed in concentration as she examined the chart again.

Except...

_Was_ she right though?

(She could feel her heart frantically and somewhat inconsistently pounding on her throat. Arrhythmia at best.)

Did she just _think_ she was right? Had she _imagined_ Choi nodding?

(Maybe she'd faint and this would all be done with.)

She looked at him now and he didn't _look _like he might have nodded.

(Or maybe the lack of sleep was finally catching up with her brain and rendering her utterly useless.)

Oh dear. And now there was no time to-

"Time's up. Mister Alec... _Sauvage_." He rolled the name around his mouth like he really enjoyed saying it. "Final diagnostic."

"Recurrence of Spotted Snake."

He looked pretty damned sure of himself. Might want to reconsider, Alec my boy.

"Miss Lewis?"

"Same."

Less confident. She knew she missed something.

"Mister Binn?"

"It's probably Corpseblight."

Good for him! And good for her!

Guess she wasn't in the wrong. Guess despite his lecherous leering and unfortunate name there was a reason people remembered Finn Binn.

Alec and Mercedes didn't seem to agree. Mercedes looked almost offended, while Alec seemed to think it was hysterical. Better yet, he _was_ hysterical.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN CORPSEBLIGHT, HE'S ALIVE!"

"Miss Weasley?"

"Corpseblight."

"Are you both insane?!" This was Alec again. "Has none of you ever read a book?!"

"Why do you think they are wrong, Mr. Sauvage?"

"Because… because, I mean, it's _obvious, _isn't it?! The man is alive isn't he?!"

"It wouldn't be the first time necrotic diseases have tried to seize the living, Mr. Alec Sauvage. Maybe _you _should try to pick up a book sometime. One not included in the mandatory curriculum."

Mercedes still looked stunned, her big eyes shifting between Finn, Rose and the patient. She took a single, deep breath… and her nose crinkled. And then she took another, more tentative sniff. And another.

Rose could practically see the light bulb lighting over her head.

_Ding_.

"Oh." And then again. Her full lips curled and she smiled. "_Oh_."

"Miss Lewis, since you're the last to arrive at the party would you care to explain to Mister Alec Sauvage so he can join us on the side on enlightenment?"

"Oh yes, sure Healer Choi." She looked like she was about to cry of excitement. "Mr. Mason… do you… er… know any vampires?"

The man grinned. There were sharp fangs where his regular teeth had been.

"Oh, how did we not notice…"

One word, peaches. _Retractable_.

Alec had quietly slinked back as far away from Mr. Mason as he could. He looked a mixture of disgusted and scared and just plain annoyed.

Sucks being wrong, doesn't it?

Rose could practically hear his thoughts. 'Of course!', he was thinking. 'It's obvious if you know he's a vampire!'

Well ya didn't, sweetcheeks. Possibly because you're a bloody racist asshole and it never occured to you that vampires are also people in their own undead, special way.

So sod the fuck off and wipe that look off of your face.

"Make it quick, Miss Lewis."

"Necrotic diseases can sometimes be contracted by the living dead," Mercedes parroted. "They can also be contracted by people who... erm... _consort_ with them."

Sexually transmitted, Mercedes. Sexually transmitted.

Rose liked the girl so much better when she wasn't being nice. The fact was, much like Finn and even Alec, she _was_ smart. Brilliant even. She just disguised it very, _very_ well under a layer of nauseating kindness.

"His recurring Spotted Snake kept us from seeing that the whites of his eyes were really gray. There's also a mild…"

Mercedes seemed to hesitate for a second. Not wanting to offend the vampire?

Cute.

"Odor. Metallic. Consistent with Corpseblight. He probably still has a pulse…"

Mercedes seemed to be reaching unforeseen questions and conclusions as she spoke.

It was lovely to watch.

Almost enough to make her forget her own cold sweats, quivering hands and legs and the erratic beating of her heart. Come to think of it, those were all symptoms of both infatuation _and_ exhaustion slash low blood pressure.

Now she understood why fair maidens tended to swoon. They weren't in love, they just needed a bloody Chocolate Frog.

"I mean, his heart is probably still beating because of… well, for lack of a better word, _habit_. Supposedly it happens to newly turned vampires…?"

The patient nodded, flashing his fangs once more. He seemed to be enjoying this immensely, despite having been handed a pretty shitty diagnosis. None of the others seemed to realize it though.

"Why… why wouldn't it be on his chart though?"

Rory Mason shrugged and Rose's lips pursed ever so slightly.

Because while vampires were under the protection of paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans and her mother's Cabinet had taken largely promising strides in making sure they were accepted and had a better chance of integration into society… they were still vampires. And some people, like Alec Sauvage, were assholes.

That's why.

Mercedes seemed to realise it herself and she nodded.

"Very good, Miss Lewis. Objections Mr. Alec Sauvage?"

Choi apparently relished saying the bloke's full name. Alec shook his head, apparently rendered silent.

And for a while the world was slightly less annoying.

* * *

**December 18th, 2027 - 21h10**

When their shift finally ended and she was dragging her sorry ass back to the courtyard for a smoke, Choi asked her to stay back a minute.

"What tipped you off?"

He didn't add 'this time', but it was implicit. To be fair she'd only guessed two so far.

"His medical history starts in '79. He supposedly had Shivers when he was young." She pointed at the number on the corner of the patient file. "A patient file initiated in '79 should be have an ID around… six hundred seventy, six hundred eighty thousand, give or take."

This one's id was instead comprised of seven apparently random digits, a number that would place him at the ripe old age of… nineteen.

The person in charge of the dummies really needed to up their game.

"Thank you, Miss Weasley. You can leave now."

No compliments, no dallying around, no making pointless conversation. It hadn't even been so much a permission as an order.

Some days she loved Choi.

"Sure."

She hesitated for a second.

Had #1293931 _really_ been a vampire?

But asking would have been too much energy that she wasn't willing to spend. Not to mention she wasn't keen on having Choi hate her. His rotations were the easiest she'd had all month. She _needed_ the break.

Instead Rose left and added not asking to the ever-growing list of things she regretted.

* * *

**December 19th, 2027 - 02h30**

She'd been lucky.

She'd been lucky to notice the damned number.

She'd been lucky Binn had been asked before her.

How long would it take, do you suppose, for people to realize that was all it was? That her "talent" was made up of blind luck and a keen eye for irrelevant details?

Rose dragged herself home, too tired to Apparate, too tired to even Floo.

(Last time she'd tried she'd ended up popping up in a fireplace somewhere around Shropshire.)

It was dark out. Cold too. She was shivering convulsively, her teeth chattering. Rose wrapped her cloak closer to her small frame and powered through.

One step at a time, Rose. One step at a time.

She still needed to study when she got home. Why she bothered, she couldn't tell you. After all, in just two months time, when she failed all her exams, people would know she was a fraud. That she'd somehow spent the past three years deceiving them all into thinking she was competent and smart.

The house was thankfully quiet when she arrived. Were Malfoy and Al asleep already? She took off her shoes and tiptoed into the living room, rubbing her hands together for warmth. There was no light coming from the kitchen. None from their rooms either.

They'd left the living room light on for her, though. Rose felt her eyes prickling as she blinked the tears away.

It was good that they were asleep.

Albus had been a real pest lately, cornering her at work, showing up with stupid soup like she was a toddler who couldn't take care of herself.

Stupid Al. Stupid, lovely Al.

Malfoy... oh, Malfoy was a pest for an entirely different reason. He'd been in the foulest mood lately. It made him perfectly anal. She swore if the prat uttered the words "you," "have to" and "laundry" in the same sentence again she might strangle him.

Yes. It was good that they were asleep.

Good thing indeed.

Except the house felt... empty. Devoid of warmth. Quiet, eerily so. There was no comforting bickering, no laughter.

She felt desperately alone and small.

Why couldn't she have them around and be left the hell alone? Why couldn't they be content with being quirky, fun, noisy furniture?

Not for the first time, Rose wished she hadn't volunteered for that second shift. She might have slept some instead of doing four extra hours of Dangerous Bites. But Healer Ogden and his sour face had asked and she was eager to please. Eager to prove to herself and everyone else that she was indeed good.

And now she was here and the house was empty and she felt _alone_.

Her breath caught in her throat when her eyes met the endless stacks of paper on her table.

How was it that they did it? How was it that fucking Jesse Boot and stupid Penny Nicholson did it? How did they get home to _this _and still they were up every single day, enthused about bloody jello and shelling out silly impressions?

How the hell was she supposed to do it?

And Rose gave herself the only answer she could.

One breath at a time.

One page at a time.

One chapter at a time and it would all work out.

Maybe tomorrow she'd quit.

Maybe she'd tell them all to shove it and come home, get some sleep. Maybe she'd eat a damed donut.

Maybe she'd pursue a career in Comparative Arithmancy.

And so she waded through the endless stacks and she kept lying to herself, saying this one push would be the last.


	12. Unhinged, The Movie

**December 20th, 2027 - 15h15**

It was the little things that got to him.

At first the change had been almost imperceptible. He'd walked into his practice on Monday morning after the Magpies tryouts and noticed, not for the first time, that his locker door was slightly nicked on the corner.

It was the first time he'd been annoyed by it.

Then, when his salary had finally hit his account at Gringotts, he was annoyed by the fact that it was late, despite the fact that it had _always_ been late, even when Andrew Bell wasn't in charge.

After a few days, the passive annoyance had grown to open irritation. It simmered, growling and baring its ugly teeth.

He'd noticed, not for the first time, that Jordan was shamelessly favouring his left side and therefore missing mostly everything that came from his right in a dazzling display of utter incompetence.

However, it was the first time he'd purposefully gone out of his way to bombard the older Beater with right winged assaults.

After two weeks, as Christmas approached and the conversation with his parents loomed over his head, his anger was boiling, aimlessly spitting at his surroundings. Poisoning the world.

_Everything_ was getting to him.

The way Elliot batted, always the same grunt when the bat connected with the Bludger.

The way Jordan flew, too cautiously, too practiced. No heart, no soul.

The way Elliot _chewed_, mouth open, noisily.

The way Jordan fucking _breathed_.

On the plus side it was the most efficient his batting had ever been. On the pitch, he managed to channel the rage productively, active aggressively assaulting his team with volley after volley of mean spirited, petty and highly competent attacks.

But it spilled.

He screamed at the grocery store cashier for getting his change wrong.

He silently frothed when his breakfast order came with strawberry jam instead of raspberry jam.

He kicked up a fuss in his living room when the Floo queue to get to the Puddlemere stadium didn't budge.

He walked all the way there, cursing at the people who were unwary enough to not dodge out of his way.

His anger wasn't even abated when he realized the Floo had actually been down because a nice little old lady had gotten halfway stuck at her place.

No. It boiled.

The plan had been simple: out of the fireplace, into the living room and straight to his bedroom where he wouldn't need to deal with any other problems he couldn't control.

Except there was a minefield of carefully stacked piles of paper lining the floor. He looked to his left and there she was, the mother of all this chaos.

Rose Weasley.

Her little kingdom of disorder was usually limited to the round table on the right of the fireplace. Today however, she had apparently decided to branch out, explore uncharted territory. She had marked the new, foreign lands she'd conquered by placing her little neat piles of papers, with their neat little pink and orange and blue and green post-its… smack in the middle of the floor.

With a ten foot radius.

The piles had even climbed onto the couch in a few strategic spots.

Walk out of the fireplace, into the living room and straight to his bedroom. That had been the plan.

No plan survived Rose.

"Hey," she croaked, her voice hoarse and apologetic. She offered him a small, guilty smile. "I didn't expect you for another two hours. Sorry, I'll-"

The plan was definitely dead now.

"Why... is your _crap_... spread all over the place?"

"Calm down, Malfoy." She just shrugged, her hand flicking nervously toward the table top. "It increases my Accio speed."

His eyes followed her apparently dismissive motion and he realized she had been holding a half smoked cigarette, which she was now anxiously putting out on an ashtray that seemed to be almost half full.

"Are those _cigarettes?!_"

It would indeed explain the smell. He'd stepped out of the fireplace, so he'd just assumed that Puddlemere's Floo needed a thorough cleaning but this… this was something else.

"Wonderfully observant of you. Yes. They are."

She seemed to have gone from apologetic to defiant. As if _daring_ him to say something. He bit his tongue and shook his head.

It wasn't his problem.

She could kill herself if she wanted to. She'd been doing a wonderful job of it so far, what with the not eating and not sleeping.

Why should he care?

"I thought so," she stated, almost patronizingly. "It's not really any of your business."

And there it was. The spark that set the world on fire.

He could feel his body reacting to it, preparing itself for a fight. His heart rate speeding, his blood pressure increasing.

"What is _wrong_ with you, you moron!"

"Whoa, Malfoy," she sputtered, leaning back on her chair. She almost looked amused. "_What_ did you just call me?"

"Are you aware of what smoking will do to you?!"

She _knew_. Of course she did.

"I'm a Healer-in-training," she nodded carelessly. As if it that made it perfectly normal to put one's health at risk as she constantly did. As if St. Mungo's endorsed her filthy little habit. "Why are you screaming?"

The correct answer to that would have been 'I don't know'. Instead, he lashed out, because, really, what else could he do? Stop?

Pfft.

"Because for once, just _once_, I'd like to come home and just… _be_!"

"Then just... _be_!" She got up from her seat, and placed her wand on the bowl over the fireplace. "And stop yelling, you're giving me a headache."

She was moving slowly, her movements languorous. She crouched and started carefully picking up the stacks of paper. She was taking her sweet time, one stack at a time, apparently in a random order that had nothing to do with proximity or size. Once or twice she seemed to hesitate. Her hand reached out to a pile as if to grasp it in mid air and then she shook her head before finally grabbing it.

Why did she have to be so slow? She was twenty-one, not ninety, for Merlin's sake!

"I'm sorry," he said in petulant accents, taking a few steps in her direction. "But I can't even move without stepping all over your shit."

"It's my home too," she said, not even looking up. "And you can step on it if you want, I'm not about to stop you from living your life."

"And the smoking?" He dropped into a crouch and picked up a stack of papers and handed it to her, the compulsion to tidy too strong to resist. She shook her head and he placed it back where he'd found it, getting up to his feet. If she didn't want his help, well, she didn't want his help. "_Why_?"

"It's none of your business."

"It is entirely my business. It's _my_ home too and you're… you…" Scorpius stuttered, trying to find a way to catalogue this new piece of information in his head. Rose Weasley, The Smoker. "When did you even _start_ smoking?"

"When I started at St. Mungo's." There it was again, the shrug. "Again, none of your business."

"Why haven't I ever seen you-"

Or smelled it, really, the house _reeked_.

"Because it's none of your business." She looked up to meet his gaze, her own sunken eyes sparkling with a hint of disdain. "But if you must know, I use one of Uncle George's air fresheners. I just… I'm out. Need to get some more. Sorry."

He moved cautiously around the piles on parts of the ground she had vacated, like he was some sort of exotic dancer slash martial artist slash drunk butterfly.

"Oh, just use your wand," he groaned. "It'll take forever. Look at all this, I mean the pile just keeps growing. Doesn't it bother you?!"

He asked if it bothered _her_ when in reality all he wanted to do was to shout that it annoyed _him_.

"You never come home this early, Malfoy," she said in lieu of an explanation, getting up and placing a stack of papers on the table. She picked up her wand and started accioing the piles. "I'd have tidied it-"

"No, you wouldn't have!" He came home every day and it was only passably better. "Maybe you'd have hidden away your ashtray of shame-" He glared at the ashtray and was, once again, astounded. Rose Weasley, The Smoker. Who'd a thunk it? "How _many_ did you smoke?!"

"They mostly smoke themselves," she replied. What the hell did that even mean?!"And yes, I would have."

"Why the hell are you even here?" he growled under his breath.

"Beg your pardon, what?"

"You wanted a stupid office, we gave you your stupid office! Yet here you always are, with all your..." Scorpius hesitated for a second, trying to find an alternative for the word 'shit'. "With your _stuff _spread all over the place! And now what, you're trying to give us cancer?"

"What, you object to me studying in my own living room now?!"

"No, I don't!" He did, in fact. But she was the asshole, not him. It would ruin his aesthetic for this argument if he just let his anger take over. "Except... you're _always_ studying! Always!"

"And?"

"And we always have to tiptoe around you!" Scorp threw his hand up in the air and gave one of the piles on the floor a nudge with his foot. "I can't have fucking people over because it would disturb you and your hostile takeover of the place!"

In truth, he didn't have people over because he didn't want to.

But he liked to think that if he did, she would be the reason he didn't bring anyone over.

"That's your choice, not mine," Rose barked, standing straight to meet his eye. "I never asked you to live your life differently just because I'm studying."

No, but one did, because unlike her, there were some people who believed in fucking respect.

"Of course you didn't but it stands to reason-"

"Listen Malfoy," she interrupted, all traces of amusement wiped away from her face. "I don't care if you fucking got rejected by the Magpies or whatever other problems you think you have going on in that charmed life of yours. But it gives you no right to be a _dick_ to me. I said I'm sorry. Move on."

"I wasn't rejected, and I'm not being a dick. I'm just voicing my complaints, like the fact that I just got home and all I wanted was to-"

"Ta ta ta," she interrupted, raising a hand. "Whatever _you're_ going through, it's not my fault. And you come in here-"

"Oh, come on Rose, are you kidding me? This is my home, it's supposed to be the place where I rest and it's always a goddamned mess!"

"If you're so keen on having things pristine, you can do it yourself."

"You'd kill me if I touched your notes and you _know _it," he huffed, rolling his eyes. "And the hours, the fucking inane schedules you keep!"

"What's that have to do with anything?"

"It _bothers_ me!"

"Now you're going to tell _you're_ bothered with the all nighters _I_ have to fucking pull to actually have time to study?!" It did sound a little insane. "While _you're_ off in the land of dreams?"

Not to mention hypocritical.

"If you got some fucking sleep every once in a while you might actually _learn _something when you study," he growled back, "instead of always looking like a fucking dazed martyr!"

"Are you done telling me how to live my life?"

"No, I'm not done-"

"You know what? Fine," she hissed, moving toward the table and haphazardly stacking up her books. "Fine."

"Where the hell are you going?"

"To my study," she said, starting to pick up the piles on the floor, slamming them angrily on top of each other, this time not bothering with whatever order they were supposed to have. "You can be a real asshole sometimes."

He was possessed by a burning desire to make her fall off her high horse.

"Well guess what, you're no fucking walk in the park either! You and your slimy disgusting hair on the bottom of the shower drain that you _never_ remove and that I need to deal with every single morning!"

"Malfoy, you could've just told me and I'd have-"

But he was on a roll now. An ugly, spiralling roll of pent up aggression at tiny things that really hadn't mattered until a few seconds ago and that he was now willing to rub in her face for all they were worth.

"Not to mention the fact that you _never_ do your dishes, you're _never_ around when we're cleaning the place and that your laundry pile is the size of fucking Gringotts!"

"The fact that I don't have the time to actually do laundry because I'm trying to _survive _bothers _you_?!" Rose shook her head. "Shit, Malfoy, I knew you were an entitled fucker but you really don't care about anyone but yourself."

"Guess what Rose, welcome to adulthood!" He laughed. A hard laugh. He could scarcely recognize it. "People _are_ selfish! People are tired! People do their fucking laundry! This is what it's like, keep up!"

"Malfoy…"

She got up and eyed him carefully. As if she wasn't sure how to react.

If he was being honest, neither did he.

"What, you think Jesse Boot doesn't do his laundry just because he's fucking _tired_?!"

"Malfoy, I-"

"Maybe if you weren't an overachieving cunt, you'd have the time to sleep!"

Shit, he'd said it. After eleven years of silently thinking it.

"Shut up, Malfoy."

"The hell I will! You drag yourself around the place looking like you're a fucking virgin sacrifice and why?!"

"Malfoy," she growled in a tone that would have been threatening if she hadn't been, what, five foot three? "Shut the hell up."

"Because you're too _proud_ to have anything other than an Outstanding!"

She dropped the pile of papers she had been amassing on the floor, papers fluttering wildly, and took a few steps in his direction, fists clenched to her sides.

"Malfoy, if you don't shut the hell up this instant I'll-"

"What? Hex me?" he growled, perfectly aware that the two only possible outcomes of this were either getting his balls kicked or a nasty Bat Bogey. She didn't look like she was in the mood to just fully body bind him. "Adult people talk, adult people don't _hex_ each other when things don't go their fucking way!"

"You want to talk? Fine, let's talk." She threw her wand onto the couch and took a few steps closer to him until she was just a few inches away. Her breath reeked of smoke. "Let's talk about how you're a pedantic, _entitled_, little spoiled brat who-"

How dare she?

"Pedantic?! Spoiled? I work my _ass_ off everyday for what I have, you asshole!"

"Oh you do, do you? With absolutely no help at all? You have this cushy _dream_ job at a Quidditch Team that, for all we know, your daddy probably got for you. And now you're feeling, _what_, frustrated that-"

Scorpius could feel his blood boiling at her words.

"- and you take it out on me when all I was doing was minding my own fucking business!"

How _dare_ she?

"You can't say shit like that!"

Bringing up their parents in arguments had always been hallowed grounds. It was just something they didn't do, something they'd instinctively known not to do from the moment they'd met.

And here she was, piercing the veil. Shredding it, really.

"Can't I now?" She sniggered. "I think I just did."

"What it _wrong_ with you?"

"You want to know what's _wrong _with me?!"

"_Yes_," Scorpius sputtered, "please explain to me why your life is so very _difficult_."

"Fine." She glared back at him gritting her teeth. "Officially I haven't slept in about thirty seven hours. Seventy six if we count the insomnia."

It was as if someone had just poured a bucket of cold water over his head.

"I have classes for eight hours every day and then clinic rotations for at least another eight. Then studying. On top of all that, you insensitive _prick_, today I got word that one of the patients I was caring for died. We're going to be opening her up tomorrow."

_Shit_.

"Weasley, I'm so-"

His hand reached out to her instinctively but she smacked it away as she brushed past him toward the table.

"I got thrown up on three times today. Maybe four, I'm not entirely sure when 'today' started." Her head rose to her forehead to wipe a bead of glistening sweat. "It took me thirteen tries before I actually stuck a needle correctly into someone's arm yesterday and I got _yelled_ at."

"Rose, I'm-"

"Don't you fucking _dare _interrupt me," she snarled. She wasn't shouting anymore. Her voice had dwindled to almost a whisper, like she was talking more to herself than to him. "On top of all that, I have my two big exams of the semester in less than a month. And then _you_ come home and give me _shit_? Because you're in what, a _bad mood_?"

And now she was shouting again.

"I _smoke_," she raged, taking a few steps toward the table, shakily picking up the ashtray and flinging it against the wall, ash and soot rising in a cloud, "because it calms me the hell down!"

"You don't need to-"

"What I need?! You don't have the slightest clue of what I need or don't need. You seem to be under the impression that you know me!" She laughed almost hysterically, throwing her arms up in frustration. "Well, you _don't_!"

"Listen, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said what I-"

Goddamnit.

"_That's_ what's wrong with me."

"Weasley, I-"

"Is that what you wanted to hear?! That I don't have my shit together _at all_?" She poked his chest once with surprising strength and then backed away slowly, a feverish grin on her face as if she was _relieved_. "Does it live up to your expectations?"

"Okay, Rose, listen, I'm sorry, you could have just told me. I'd have-"

"I shouldn't _need_ to tell you. From now on I'm fucking not telling you anything. Congratulations, I'm not talking to you." She headed toward the study door and flung it open. It slammed against the wall on the other side. "So shut up."

She stomped over to the couch to get her wand and started floating her things into the study with a look of grim determination. Like a sad procession of books and papers grieving for their owner.

Scorpius swallowed.

"Listen, Rose, I'm really sorry, I've-"

"Did I stutter?" Her levitating spell quivered just a little. "Shut up. Or I'll hex you, like the immature _cunt_ that I am."

The anger had left him cold and out to dry, with a multitude of problems on top of the ones he couldn't control. And this one was entirely of his making.

"Look, I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have called you that. I've been really worried about a few things and-"

"Do I look like I care? No. We're not friends you and I," she gestured madly between the two of them with her wand and a few of the floating items clattered to the ground. She chuckled bitterly. "You made that abundantly clear."

"Of course we're friends," he argued, surprising himself. It sounded shallow, now that he'd pissed the bed and set fire to the curtains. "After a sort."

If they were friends then he was a _shitty_ friend.

"Friends are supposed to help each other out," she hissed back, following the tail end of her floating books. She lowered her wand with a swish and they crashed to the ground. She looked exhausted. "I'll do my laundry, I'll take the stupid hair from the drain. I'll stop studying in the living room." She grabbed the door and shook her head. "And maybe, just _maybe_ we'll never fucking need to talk to each other again."

And then she slammed the door in his face. And he was left on the other side, feeling like a complete and utter _dick_.

Shit.

She'd come around, right? It was one of her best qualities, her ability to never stay mad too long. She raged, she fumed, she hexed people and then she regretted it. It was her MO.

She'd come back and apologise and he'd apologise and it'd be a lovely 'I'm sorry' fest.

It'd be fine.


	13. The Calm After The Storm

**December 20th, 2027 - 19h10**

He waited.

He waited some more.

Except the door didn't open and Rose didn't come back. She didn't apologise. He didn't apologise. There was no 'I'm sorry' fest for anyone.

And all was not fine.

He kept replaying the conversation, nay, fight in his mind with growing horror. She'd been surprisingly calm throughout and he'd been… unforgivable.

Sure his complaints had been sound. But he'd been a complete and utter prick about them. How could he have known that-

A door opened.

(No, not that door. The other door. The front door.)

Through it walked a bundled up Albus Potter, his lithe frame completely lost under the winter clothes that he chose to adorn in the cold season.

Fuss pot.

"I come bearing gifts!"

He was carrying colorful bags of all shapes and sizes which he promptly dropped on the ground. Overcoat, scarf, coat and mittens followed. Free from his warm prison, Al plopped down on the couch and struggled to remove his boots.

"I can see that," Scorp replied slowly. "Good shopping?"

"What, no snide rejoinder?" Al had finally managed to get one of his boots off and threw it half-heartedly at him. "No snappy comeback about how the holidays are merely a time of familial obligation and despair conjured up by people to force their unwilling spawn to spend time with them?"

Silence.

"No, we're good."

Their eyes met for a second, Al's full of laughter and his… well, probably there were some hints to the stress he was feeling in his. Five hours ago he'd been panicking. It had abated slightly and given place to a resigned feeling of "I done goofed".

His eyes kept wandering to the door of the study. Rose coming out right now and telling Al all about what a complete and utter tosser he was would be truly inconvenient, especially considering how much he didn't have a plan for that.

"What is wrong with you?!" Al quipped throwing the second of his boots in his general direction. "I swear I want to shake you! You've been intolerable for days and now you're barely responsive. Did a Bludger hit you in the kisser?"

"I'm…" He felt himself stuttering. "Well I'm fine, I'm much better thanks, all is good."

Merlin, he was going to be homeless.

"You're what?" Al's eyebrows rose and he took a step back to examine the room. "Where are Rose's things?"

"I…"

"You're very loquacious today aren't you?

Smooth.

"Where's Rose? Is she in—"Al's tone went from jesting to concerned as he noticed the hole in the wall where the ashtray had hit and the subsequent mess on the carpet under it. "What is that?"

"Oh that… it's… er…"

"What the fuck happened? Scorp?"

"Well, Rose and I got into a bit of a fight."

"If I had a knut," Albus chuckled, but his tone was sharp. "So what?"

"Words… were said."

"Both of you are very verbose when angry, I'm hardly surprised," Albus retorted, perusing the hole in the wall with interest. "What words?"

"Ones I… regret…?"

"Stop being a wuss, Malfoy and give it to me straight," Al scolded, turning towards him. "You're always fighting, why do you look like you've broken your mum's most expensive vase?"

"I called her a cunt alright?" Scorp's eyes met Al's and he winced. "I told her she was a martyr and that she needed to sleep and do laundry and half a dozen other insane things that don't sound so awful told out of context but—"

"Oh no, they do sound awful, even out of context," Al retorted, sitting on the arm of the couch and glowering at him. "I'm genuinely torn, I don't know if I should hurt you or comfort you… probably both. Has she apologised yet?"

"No, she's holed up in her study and hasn't resurfaced since."

"You're telling me this happened more than an hour ago and she hasn't come crawling out begging your forgiveness?"

Quite.

"She's been there for an awful long time. Maybe she fell and hit her head or hurt herself or—"

"Nah, if she were hurt the spellwork on the room would kick up a fuss and spit her out. So, I'm assuming this was your fault ?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Yes…?"

"No!" gasped Albus, lifting a hand to his breast in mock awe. He sat back down on the couch, his legs swaying back and forth. "Didn't she completely overreact?"

"Well, yes, she always does. This time I started it."

"Well, you always do. You need to apologise."

"No shit."

Their eyes met and Al's face was a testament of amusement and pity.

Al took a few steps and walked toward the door of the study and stopped. He eyed it critically, taking its mental measure.

Scorp just stood next to him, eyes darting from the door to his friend. Al flicked his wand a few times, muttered some gibberish under his breath and, for a few seconds, an intricate web of shimmering strands of all colors shone in the five feet surrounding the door. Al looked over at them, frowning and then they faded.

"We can't go in," Albus finally said, shrugging airily. "I set up this really sophisticated soundproof vault thing for her." He flicked his wand in the air and a shimmering green strand shone. "It's attuned to her blood. Even I can't break it." He pulled at it for a second, giving it a good hard tug and it flickered with static. "For one I'm glad she's getting to use it. She truly wasn't allowing this masterpiece to live up to its full potential."

Al kept poking and prodding at the strands with the proud look a parent gives their child.

"What then?"

"Well, I haven't the slightest of what you're going to do," Al replied grinning and spinning on his heels, taking a few steps toward the pile of bags he'd dropped by the door. "I'm going to tidy my gifts, shower, go out far, far away to dinner and then maybe work on some spells at Yardley's."

Disappointment washed over him. After the initial fear that Albus might overreact, he'd hoped he'd stick around.

Maybe even help him out?

But Albus was already picking his bags and walking towards his room, dashing Scorpius' hopes.

"What about—" he protested. "What about me?!"

"You, my inconsequential, boneheaded cockroach, are going to sit on that bloody couch and pray that she comes out in the next few hours." Al sniggered to himself. "And then you can grovel and beg at her feet." Al gave him a once over and nodded, as if assuring himself it was the right call. "And you better hope that she may find it in her heart to forgive you. You two really need to sort out your issues."

"Well, but she also said some really horrible shit," Scorp replied petulantly. "She-"

"You know as well as I do, if this were her fault she'd have been out here herself five minutes after it happened, grovelling at your feet," Al retorted, his usually even voice rising. "Since she hasn't, this one's on you."

"What if—"

"She doesn't forgive you? My, my, ye of little faith." Al gave his face a friendly slap - perhaps with a bit too much force. "See here, if she doesn't forgive you, I'm going to have to assume that whatever you said to her was unforgivable. If that's the case, I may or may not feel compelled to mess you up."

Damn.

"You can't be serious!"

"It's fifty-fifty right now." Al shrugged. "You see, if the roles were reversed, I couldn't do anything of the sort because, well, Rose isn't exactly the most able-bodied person and if I did anything to her she'd just break into a million pieces and die," Al replied, glancing significantly at the door of the study. "You on the other hand, can probably take a beating."

"Who are you kidding," Scorpius snickered. "I'd kick your ass in a fight."

"Who said anything about a fight?" There was something about Albus' smile that made Scorp's blood curdle in his veins. He twiddled his wand between his fingers with an ease that would make any Olympic rhythmic dancer jealous. "I have a plethora of really nasty hexes I've been dying to try out on a living human so it's a win-win in my book. One of them _theoretically _reverses the direction of your digestive system, I'm quite pleased with it."

There were the legal considerations of course. There were the social norms to uphold. There was a myriad of rules that assured him that no, it was absurd, of course Al couldn't...

Looking at Al's face though, he wasn't entirely sure those were in play anymore. If Rose came out this instant, crying, he wouldn't be surprised to find himself in a full body bind again or something far nastier.

Al wasn't someone you'd like to meet in a shady alley.

"I could probably take you." Who was he kidding really? If it came to fisticuffs, Scorp could and would probably beat him up. In a wand fight… well. "Al, I genuinely don't know if you're serious or not right now and it's freaking me out a little."

"It's best if you don't," was the cryptic answer, a large smile on the Potter Spawn's face. "Now run along and make nice. Offer to do her laundry or dishes whatever. It's the sort of thing she hates doing. You on the other hand, are the biggest nerd for fabric softening spells I've ever met."

"You think she'll come out still mad?"

"Nah. Rose has a lot of flaws, but she really doesn't know how to hold a grudge." Al said calmly before smacking him with the left hand side of the multitude of parcels he had started levitating. "Just don't be an asshole again and you'll be fine. And maybe do something about the living room, this place reeks of cigarettes."

"Those are hers," Scorp whined, clearly hoping for some quorum. "Did you know she's—"

"Smoking? Yeah, of course I do." Albus shook his head as if it were obvious. "That's how I know she's really stressed."

Well, he didn't get a quorum.

"How could I have known?"

"I bloody well told you about it a few days ago, but you were so angry at something else you didn't hear a word I was saying." Al at this point was just hanging out by the doorframe of his room. "By the way, are you not being an asshole anymore? Or do we need to talk about that as well?"

"I wasn't being—"

"You were being an insufferable, punk ass little whiny asswipe. That in turn got into a collision course with my cousin's out-of-control freight train of anxiety and resulted in this messed up situation, which I'm not getting into."

"But-" Scorpius tried to protest, but Albus would have none of it.

"Buh buh buh buh! You're adults, act like it," he scolded and there was the sound of bags dropping from his room. "Now, I'm going to shower and then I'm leaving. Fix it, will you?"

"You traitor."

"Fix it."

And then his door closed and Scorpius wondered if this was all his day was going to be like: staring at closed doors and wondering how the hell he was supposed to "be a grown up" and "fix it".

* * *

**December 21th, 2027 - 03h50**

When the door finally opened and Rose emerged from her study, the house was eerily quiet. From the couch stirred the sleeping figure of Scorpius Malfoy, blanket over his legs and an open magazine sprawled across his lap.

She took one good look at him and snickered, her snub nose held high.

Asshole.

"Rose—?"

"Sod off."

She could hear him scrambling after her and it gave her no end of joy to hear the magazine and then the lamp falling to the floor, then a curse as he hit the inconveniently placed coffee table with his knee.

Rose couldn't see what was happening behind her since she was far too busy giving him the cold shoulder. Nonetheless, just the mental picture of Scorpius still half-asleep tripping all over himself was quite energising.

For that matter, so had been that power nap she'd been able to snag in the past hours. She wasn't proud to admit it, but after he'd managed to drive her to absolute hysterics, she'd been driven to an embarrassingly effeminate crying fit which had lasted until she'd collapsed from utter exhaustion.

Sometimes all a girl needed was a good cry and a nap. In a way, she probably should be thanking Malfoy: it was the best sleep she'd had in months.

"Rose." He caught up with her in the middle of the corridor and tried to place himself in front of her, arms wide open, blocking the passage to the kitchen. "Listen, I need to—"

"No thanks," she interrupted, genially dodging him and walking past him. "I don't need anything from you."

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

She turned round to face him. Her gaze wandered up and down, taking him in: dishevelled hair, sunken eyes and nervous twitches of someone who'd had a very shitty night's sleep. He looked quite miserable.

Good.

"Like I said, I don't need anything from you," she replied breezily, turning around and sashaying to the bathroom. "So you can take that apology and shove it."

Man, she felt good. She took a few steps toward the laundry basket and peered inside. Now all she needed was a shower and a fresh pair of—

Where was it?

"Where's my laundry?"

Not just hers, where was the laundry? All of it? She'd been hoarding it like gold for the past few weeks. The basket had been overflowing the last time she'd tossed a batch in.

And now here she was, staring at a laundry basket that was empty, with not a damned, solitary sock in it.

Maybe Al had moved it to the kitchen.

She walked out of the bathroom, crashing straight into Scorpius. "Oh, Merlin, will you stop following me around?"

Just a pair of underwear, was that too much to ask? She wasn't proud to admit it, but it had gotten to the point where she'd actually bought new underwear from the shop at St. Mungo's just so she wouldn't have to do said laundry.

Now however, she was feeling rather refreshed. She could probably squeeze a cleaning spell out of herself.

However when she walked into the kitchen and peered into the second laundry basket, it was empty as well. "What the-"

There was a pointed cough coming from the door.

"Where are all my clothes?"

She looked over at Scorpius who was leaning against the doorframe which, she realised now, was something he did all the time, complete with a smug look and a fuck all attitude.

The kicker, however? There was no smug look and no fuck all attitude.

"I washed them."

He sounded… humbled, like the permanent arrogant stick had been removed from his tuchus.

She must be hearing wrong.

"You what?"

"I took care of your laundry," he yawned, covering his mouth and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's in your room."

Was she dreaming? She must still be asleep, because this was the sort of thing she wished she dreamed about.

So many questions unanswered: had he seen her delicates? Had he touched them?

Kill her now.

"You…"

"Did your laundry, yes," he replied slowly. "It's somewhat folded, though not brilliantly. You had like three months worth."

Shock of shocks, he didn't sound like he was rubbing it in.

"I was going to say 'went into my room' and "saw my underwear' but…"

"Yep." He sighed and dragged himself into the kitchen, before pulling out two mugs from one of the cabinets. "Tea?"

What on earth was going on?

"Why..." she stuttered, words failing her. "But why?"

"Tea or no tea?"

The very notion of Scorpius Malfoy doing her laundry was bizarre at least, but the thought of him folding it neatly afterwards…?

It was ludicrous.

And now he was offering her tea?!

"Yes, tea," she replied almost automatically, still shocked. She pulled out a chair and sat on it. Maybe if she didn't move things might start to make sense. "Why did you do my laundry?"

She watched the new and improved Scorpius, the same one who'd called a 'cunt' a few hours ago, put a kettle on the stove and pull up a chair next to her.

"Al suggested it," he offered in lieu of an explanation, before yawning again. "I thought it was stupid at first but then I was just waiting around for you to come out, doing nothing, so I figured what the hell."

"So you did my laundry."

"Yep." He half-heartedly opened his arms and waved them to the laundry basket in a half-hearted 'tada'. He examined her warily for a second before adding: "You don't look mad at me."

He said it matter of factly and her eyes met the worried face of the boy who apparently had been sitting outside her study for the past ten hours.

For a fraction of a second, her heart went out to him.

"I'm not."

She should be milking this for all it was worth. However sitting here in the quiet, dark hours of the night, everything felt… less. Less dramatic, less scream worthy.

"You should be." His tone was quiet. "I was an absolute and utter ass."

"I know."

"I'm really sorry."

"I figured." Her eyes met his and she offered him a small smile. "Where is Al? He asleep?"

"Came in a few hours ago," Scorp replied, rolling his eyes. He got up and walked to the stove, pouring hot water into the two cups. "Told me to fix it and then left."

"Oh," she murmured. "That sounds about right."

"He's at Yardley's. I'm supposed to message when I'm done grovelling," he snorted, critically surveying the tea bags in a box. He looked up at her expectantly. "Am I grovelling enough?"

"Not really, but I'm in a good mood so I'll let it slide. I actually got some sleep in me."

"Oh."

"Yeah." This was surprisingly civil. She'd genuinely expected him to be an ass about it. Maybe even hold a grudge for a few months. "I'm sorry too."

"This one's on me. I picked a fight and we both said some really stupid shit." He paused and looked over at her, mug hovering close to him. "Sugar?"

"No." He floated the mug over to her and she grabbed it by the handle. He picked his as well and she eyed him with amusement. "You really did my laundry?"

"I did." He took a few steps closer and pulled a chair next to her. "I don't mind it, really."

"You don't?" Now she didn't know what was odder, the fact that Scorpius Malfoy knew how to apologise or the fact that laundry was his jam. "Just to be clear, we are talking about laundry? The damned sorting and washing and drying and-"

"Just…" He interrupted her, holding out a hand. "Do you mind doing taxes, paying the bills, walking through bureaucratic hell holes and filling paperwork?"

"No…?" She looked over at him and narrowed her eyes. There was no possible comparison between the two. "But it's different, paperwork is…"

"Dull, time consuming and a nightmare to get through. But you don't mind," he pointed out. "I don't mind doing laundry. Or cooking. Or doing the dishes."

She took a look around her. There was a tray of forgotten cupcakes on the corner. The kitchen was spotless, she could practically see her reflection on the cupboards.

"You cleaned?"

"Yeah. I do it a lot, I just haven't been doing it because I thought that was a you problem. Like something everyone's supposed to do and we share it in a rotative schedule or whatever, like normal people."

"You thought?" She couldn't believe it. "Isn't it?"

"I had some time on my hands to think and upon further consideration, no, it isn't," he replied, shrugging. "It's really an us problem."

"I don't-" She struggled for words. "What does that even mean?"

"You do taxes and paperwork and that other horrid, boring adult stuff you do. Albus sets up alarms and fixes things and unclogs the fireplace." He paused and shrugged. "I am apparently the maid. There's no thirds of anything."

She choked on her tea. It went everywhere, leaking from her nose, her mouth and onto the blond fellow in front of her.

"Get over it." He didn't even flinch, just picked up one, then two, then five napkins from the napkin holder and tossed them at her. "You two idiots can't keep up with basic cleanliness standards. I had high hopes at first but now I don't anymore. If anything's going to get done around here, I'll probably be the one doing it."

She dabbed her tea soaked face and shirt and eyed him for a wary second that turned into two and then ten.

He looked dead serious.

"You're saying you'll do my laundry?" Now would be the time to laugh your ass off, Malfoy. "And dishes?"

"Yeah."

"Why?!"

"Because you won't." He looked over at her critically and picked another napkin. "And it drives me nuts. Today is the first time I've walked into this kitchen and haven't felt the need to stab you with an unwashed butter knife." He dabbed the side of her face with it and pulled back, examining his handiwork. "There."

It was the gentlest Scorpius Malfoy had ever been to her.

"It won't last." For the second time today she could feel the tears prickling at her eyes. "You'll hate me for it."

She blinked decidedly and willed the tears away.

"Well, we'll just have to see."

"It's my slack you're picking. I should be adulting too!"

"It's the collective slack. Al also despises doing dishes. I'll possibly regret it... But it's unlikely. Cleaning is rather therapeutic."

It certainly looked like it. He looked much steadier than he had in weeks, calm even.

They sat quietly for a while as the new information sank in. Every once in awhile she glanced over at him and met the same concerned look, the one that told him he was afraid… of something. Maybe that she'd go postal on him.

He didn't seem to be inclined to talk anytime soon and the quiet was becoming unbearable. With every second she felt a growing urge to break it, to talk, to say something, anything.

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Not really. I was scared I wouldn't hear you when you got out."

"Could've waited till tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow." He was silent for a second and then admitted: "Plus Al threatened to kick my ass."

"You could take him, easy."

"Not if he had a wand I couldn't."

"Nope," she chuckled. "Did he threaten to hex you? Was he serious?"

"Probably."

"Then yeah, he'd trash you."

The awkward silence returned and Rose had to control herself not to break it. Let him do some of the heavy lifting.

After a minute or so of quietly sipping his tea, he broke the silence: "I was worried about you." He sounded so much like a little boy, it was endearing in a way. Not a hint of the smug asshole she knew and… well. "You said you'd never talk to me again."

"The logistics of that would have been absurd. And I said a lot of things I didn't mean." She looked over at him in earnest. "I didn't mean that part about your job, by the way. I don't believe any of that."

"I know, but it's still good to hear," he retorted, getting up and leaning back against the countertop to face her, his cattish manner slightly returned. She could almost hear his internal engine turning tea into energy. "You really think we aren't friends?"

"I had honestly never thought about it before," she admitted. His face fell and she felt like she'd just kicked a puppy. "Do you think we're friends?"

"I did but now I'm not so sure."

Damn, she had indeed kicked a puppy.

"Just because I never thought about it doesn't mean-" She got up and walked over to him, propping herself up to sit next to him. "I mean, we fought and we're here. I don't hate you."

"It was one hell of a fight," he pointed out. "I've never had anyone throw an ashtray at me before."

"I wasn't aiming at you."

"Next time you should," he sniggered. "I'd be safer that way,"

"Asswipe."

"You have a horrible, horrible aim."

She smacked his arm and he placed his mug of tea on the counter for safety before turning back to face her, a frown on his face.

"I thought this would be easier, you know?" he mused, looking over at her for confirmation.

"What?"

"The three of us living together," he replied, sighing. "In my mind you'd just be perfection incarnate, doing your dishes and we'd hardly ever see each other and instead..."

Ouch.

That had actually hurt. I mean, she'd thought the same before they moved. It was what she had wanted, right? Never to see them. Hearing it out in the open though, she felt...

"No, no, don't-" He seemed to catch onto the look on her face and quickly corrected himself. "I don't mean it like that."

She still felt betrayed.

"What's it like then?" she argued. All of her was like ruffled feathers, poofy and ready to pounce. "You thought you wouldn't have to put up with me at all but now you're stuck with it so, hey, better make the most of it?"

Merlin, so betrayed.

"Rose just-" He sighed and sat down next to her on the counter. "Not today, not again, just… hear me out."

"Fine." She moved a foot further away from him and eyed him defiantly. "But you better make it-"

"Look, I like living with you," he said simply, cutting her sentence in half. It had an instant effect of shutting her the hell up. "I never thought I'd have to actually say it out loud, but apparently I do because you're under some impression that-"

"Hey, you were the one who said you expected me to be lil' Miss Perfection," she huffed. "I expected you to be more of a-"

"Prat? Yeah." He stepped down from the counter and stood next to her. He was close, probably too close. "You probably thought I'd be different and that Al would be different too. Doesn't mean I'd trade you for that imaginary Rose that I'd never get a chance to see, or the bloody dishes she'd wash."

"The Perfection Incarnate Rose?"

"You're fine," he replied with a tone of finality that made her swoon a little. "Wouldn't trade you for that old bore in a million years."

"Really?" So now she was just fishing for compliments. She looked up at him and he simply nodded. "Never?"

"You're stuck with me for good," he assured her before picking up both their mugs and placing them in the sink. "Or at least until Al gets married to his next great love and kicks us out."

"Might take a while."

Now that he wasn't probably too close anymore, she wished he'd just come back.

"It might."

He did just so, closing the distance and leaning back on the counter next to her until their heads were level.

"Better make the most of it then."

They both grinned and looked away. Rose was acutely aware of the single point of contact between their bodies, that one inch or so of his arm that was touching hers. For a second all was fine with the world… and then he yawned.

"You need to go to sleep, don't you?" There was a slight tone of reproach that she hadn't meant to let seep into her words. "I mean… aren't you exhausted?"

She realised she didn't want him to go, not yet.

If he left, she'd have to pick herself up and go shower and study and a multitude of other unpleasantness she didn't want to deal with. Not today. She'd missed a shift already with the napping and she felt like delaying the inevitable confrontation for as long as she could. She'd accidentally managed to carve a bit of time for herself and now… well, now she didn't want to go back.

Plus... this was nice.

"I am," he admitted and shifted slightly. "But if we're going to live together we need to talk."

It was… comforting. Not like Albus was comforting, it was somehow... different.

"We do."

She looked over at him and, against her better judgement shifted closer to him.

"I can't guess what's happening in that messed up head of yours," he added, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a friendly squeeze. "You'll need to tell me when something's wrong."

"Same goes for you," she sniffed, throwing him a glare. "If you bloody get home and bite my head off for no apparent reason..."

"I know," he admitted, removing his arm. "We need to talk more, period."

"Well, we talk about Al but-"

"It's not the same," he replied, shaking his head. "I have no idea what's happening in your life. I didn't even know you smoked." He eyed her reproachfully. "Filthy habit by the way."

"Hey!" she protested. "This is why I didn't do it in front of you, I knew you'd be a pill about it."

"I'm just a concerned friend," he shrugged and grinned impishly. "It's going to be hell to quit."

No shit.

"I know, I do it every once in a while." she assented. "Be warned that there'll be about three weeks mid February where it won't be safe to breathe close to me."

In a fit of bravery she didn't know she had, Rose tucked her hand into his arm and let it rest there, fingers tugging lightly at his sleeve. His arm stiffened and she held her breath as he looked over at her, eyebrow raised.

Maybe that was the wrong thing to do?

Gingerly, she started to pull away, withdrawing the offending fingers. Before she could, his free hand found its way to the top of hers and held it in place for a second before letting go.

He pointedly looked away, but she could see him smiling.

"I probably won't be able to tell the difference, that just sounds like the normal you."

"So do we have to be nice to each other from now on?" she asked tentatively, giving his arm a small tug. Giving the physical contact a test drive, if you will. "No more sass ever again?"

"Merlin no," he chuckled throatily. "I'm just tired. We'll go back to being awful to each other in no time."

"I like this though," she admitted, scooting closer to him. Just because he was warmer than she was. "It's nice."

"Yeah. It is."

"Why were you in such a foul mood anyway?"

"I need to have a really unpleasant conversation over at my parents for Christmas," he admitted. "The yelling and apologies kind of threw a bucket of cold water over it though."

She could have sworn he inched closer. For warmth, obviously.

"Glad to be of assistance," she retorted. "If you're having a hissy fit in February we'll deal just fine."

There was a pause as she waited for him to continue but he remained stubbornly quiet. It was probably a sign to stop talking but she was going to push it.

"What's the chat about?"

Who knew when they'd have another moment like this?

"Al didn't tell you about it?" He glanced over at her and grinned. "I thought you two were Siamese twins who shared a brain."

"Like you two don't tell each other everything," she snorted. "I'm sure you know far too much I didn't want you to know."

"Oh yes, I have buckets of dirt on you," he retorted, snorting disdainfully. "Like you don't know everything about me." She didn't, which let her to think that maybe, just maybe, Al wasn't tattling as much as either of them thought he was. "You remember the Montrose Magpies?"

"Yep. He told me you got it. Didn't tell me why that was a problem," she answered with a slight frown. "Does your Dad hate the Montrose Magpies or something?"

"It's… complicated. I don't even know what I'm going to say," he sighed, turning to face her. "It might take a while. Don't you need to go study or whatever it is you do in the wee hours of the morning?"

"Tell me," she replied, adjusting her ass on the counter. She was horribly uncomfortable, but she'd be damned if she was moving anywhere or letting go of the surprisingly comfortable arm she was holding. "I've already missed a shift at the hospital and after all the commotion, I think I'm done for the day."

Just one day. A few more hours of not worrying, one day of not studying, one day of just… being.

Surely, she could do that.

"You're going to skip work and classes to... hang out with me?"

Always the tone of surprise.

"Unless…" Please say no. "You probably need some sleep." Please say no. "Aren't you tired?"

Please say no.

"Yeah… but I'll be fine," he said and she sighed with relief. The free hand went back to softly pat hers, and he grinned. "After all, if you can play hooky so can I."


	14. Christmas At The Malfoys'

**December 24th, 2027 - 10h00**

"_Malfoy Manor."_

Green flames crackled for a brief second. Dragon scaled, polished shoes stepped out of the fireplace.

There he was, a man with a mission. Unstoppable, unwavering, endlessly reciting the small yet confident monologue he'd come up with.

"What the-"

Before he even knew what was happening, he felt himself being pushed backwards, falling ass first and then on his back. Two hundred pounds of hellhound flesh and fur landed square on his chest, knocking the wind straight out of him.

The heir to the Malfoy estate let out a series of expletives most unbecoming of the sacred halls of his ancestral home, unwavering mission entirely forgotten.

_Shit._

"Damn it, Pesto," he scolded, trying his best to imbue his voice with a semblance of authority, which was no meagre task considering how much he was shaking. His voice came out choked and the evil-looking, clawed toes, only dug harder into his ribcage.

He didn't feel very much like an authority. Pesto certainly didn't seem to believe he possessed anything of the sort.

Discomfort, he had in spades though. No matter how many times he got reacquainted with Pesto, the cold sweat, the discomfort, the fear creeping down his spine never really got better.

"Get the hell off of me."

Ha. Hell.

He could feel the hot, warm breath on his face, heavy droplets of drool falling on his cheek. He could see the bared teeth close to his eye, feel the baleful snarling on the back of the gigantic beast's throat.

He _knew_ Pesto wouldn't hurt him. _Knew _it for a fact.

Knowledge, however, had a way of being chucked out the window when you were pounced on by an abomination straight from hell. Wilful self preservation then tended to kick in.

That same wilful self preservation told him to get the hell away and run for the hills.

He tried his best to reign it in. Tried his best to forget that if the hound wanted to, it could quite easily have already ripped him to shreds thinner than the bacon he'd had for breakfast that morning.

He was starting to feel that said breakfast might not stay in his stomach a lot longer now.

Breathe Malfoy, _breathe_.

This had happened before. It was nothing new. He would be fine.

"Pesto, I'm not going to say this again-"

The growling grew in intensity, evil red eyes meeting his. He could've sworn the damned snooty dog looked condescending. That's what you get when you adopt Hellhounds. You get patronizing monsters that can tear you from limb to limb if they wake up on the wrong side of the doghouse.

Even Yardley's doorman could have learned a thing or two from Pesto.

The thought of struggling crossed his mind briefly, only to be punctiliously dismissed. The second he attempted to move, the reddish eyes narrowed ever so slightly and the fiendish growling increased.

"Fine, have it your way," Scorpius sighed. "I'm _telling_ on you. _Mum_!"

"_Again_?" There was a slightly bemused huff coming from the doorway. He could see his dad approaching with the wild confidence that wavered with every inch he stood closer to the dog. "Down, Pesto. _Down_."

Scorpius was quite sure he'd heard the great Mastiff _snicker_. His dad's intervention had done nothing to stop or even reduce the guttural growling and sputtering, but at least the Hellhound was _amused_.

"Astoria?" The tone wasn't so much amused now as annoyed, the last syllable thundering throughout the halls of the manor. 'Annoyed' was a good word to describe the general feeling around the place regarding Pesto, the murderous Hellspawn. "_Astoria!_"

Steps echoed oh the marbled hallways, the unhurried clicking of heels drawing nearer and nearer. Scorpius felt the weight on his torso lifting and suddenly found himself free. Free to breathe. Free to meet his dad's eyes. Free to watch as Pesto, the murderous Hellspawn, greeted Astoria with a wagging tail and lolling tongue, the very picture of innocence.

"You need to get that mutt of yours under control."

"You're too severe dearest," Astoria drawled with her usual placid coolness, her fingers scratching behind Pesto's ears as she breezed into the room. "He isn't _doing _anything worth noting."

_Shit_.

He was alive. Scorpius felt his arms, his legs, his chest. Nothing was missing.

"He tried to kill your son, darling. One of these days he'll chew someone's arm off."

Still alive.

Somehow Pesto had managed to not rip or even tear his shirt. Not even a nip. He only looked mildly dishevelled.

"He looks fine to me. Did he try to take a bite off of you, Scorpius dear?"

"No, but-"

"Then that's that." There was a sort of finality to her voice that allowed no discussion. "He may have become a little rambunctious when he saw you, but he means no harm."

The Mastiff made a sound that sounded something between a snigger and a cough.

"And he knows that if he did indeed hurt someone," she added smoothly, as she sat down on a nearby chair and distractedly cupped the great Mastiff's head between her hands, scratching his neck, "there would be hell to pay. Quite literally."

He would never understand what Pesto saw in his slip of a mother that imposed so much respect. He could not fathom what inflexion in her even, modulated voice Pesto held in such reverence. The truth of the matter was that at her words, the Hellhound suddenly looked a good three feet smaller and far less toothy. Sorrowful even, like a dog caught chewing his master's slipper.

"Astoria, he-" his father started protesting, only to be interrupted.

"Get up, dear, you look positively foolish," Astoria chided, shaking her head at the sorry figure he was still making on the floor. "And give me a kiss. Your friends may be savages but I'm sure I didn't raise _you _to be one."

"I thought you liked my friends," Scorpius sheepishly muttered as he got to his feet and gave his mother a kiss.

"I certainly do." She caught his hand and gave him an appreciative once over. He gave his mother's hand a slight tug before letting it go and taking a step back. "But if dear Al had better table manners I would like him a great deal more."

She looked away now, with that slow, deliberate way of doing things that she had, focusing on the crumpled packages that lay on the floor.

"I think you dropped something, dear." The tone of her voice was placid as ever. "Such a shame, those are very prettily wrapped."

Close by, Pesto whimpered ever so slightly. Their odd relationship never ceased to amaze him.

Scorpius shook his head and picked up the crumpled packages that had slipped from the bag he was carrying. There were quite a few of them, one for his mother, one for his father, Aunt Daphne, Uncle Pierre, one for…

"Where's Grams?"

"Don't call her Grams to her face or we'll never hear the end of it," Draco retorted, taking the prettily wrapped packages from him. Or at least the formerly prettily wrapped packages. "Your grandmother… is having a bit of a lie down."

Draco seemed to hesitate, stealing a look at his wife's profile. She was crouching down on the floor, robes bunched around her and apparently distracted as she scratched Pesto's belly muttering the sort of inane babyish '_who's a goo' boy_' that people might offer regular puppies of the non-hellish abomination type.

"The Manor doesn't agree with her much."

_Oh_.

So they were at it again, were they?

"She misses the Dower House and her own pillows and her own servants and-"

No, she didn't, not truly. She just missed lording over Malfoy Manor and driving his mum insane with her endless criticism of how things had been 'just so' in Lucius' time.

"Well. Not to mention," Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably and he approached the corner of the room to the liquor cabinet, "the fact that the weather there is far better."

Such a pity she hadn't stayed there to enjoy it.

"You want a glass of something?"

"Don't mind if I do." The topic of Grandma Narcissa was always bound to get people drinking before noon. "The usual."

"You want something, Astoria?"

"A finger of pixie wine, please."

His dad took a few glasses from the cabinet and busied himself with making the drinks.

Once upon a time, when he had been a child and Grandma had still been living with them, the thought of his dad even lifting a finger to help around the house would have made him laugh.

Nowadays however, Draco almost looked like he might know what a cleaning spell was.

Curious to think they shared DNA.

"What about Aunt Daphne and Grandma?" He turned to his mother. "When do they get here?"

The years had been kind to her. Not a single strand of brown hair was out of place as she rubbed the hound's belly. There wasn't a crease, a wrinkle. No weight had been either gained or lost, her figure as willowy as ever. A single white hair lost in the middle of the chestnut brown chignon was the only thing supporting his mum's claim of being an old woman.

"They aren't." She looked back at him evenly. "Daph and Pierre are visiting his side of the family in France and Mama decided to tag along."

There was an odd undertone to his mother's usually placid voice. Huffy maybe? Contempt?

"Wasn't this our year?"

Behind his mother he could see Draco shaking his head with a now-you've-done-it look.

"Yes," Astoria replied calmly, tearing her gray eyes away from his and getting up to her feet. "It was."

Pesto nudged against her hip and a forked tongue discretely licked one of Astoria's hands.

It was then that he realized the tone wasn't so much a huff as _hurt_.

Even after all these years he still couldn't get an accurate read on her. Few people did.

It was no wonder he'd thought his mother was disappointed in him, what with his superior skills at reading her.

"They'll be here in two days time, Scorp," Draco replied appeasingly, handing his wife her one fingered pixie wine. "Plus we see them all the time." He had jumped in too fast, too eager, Scorpius noted. Too worried, a slight stutter to his words. "Poor Pierre on the other hand doesn't get a lot of time with his own parents and you know they're older and closer to… erm…"

Draco had been facing him, clearly addressing him when he spoke. Even so, Scorpius was quite sure all of this wasn't for his benefit.

With his parents it never really was.

"Kicking the bucket," Astoria offered, taking a dainty sip from her glass. "Assuming room temperature."

"Yes, that."

He looked at his parents standing side by side and tilted his head to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. They weren't attached at the hip like half the couples he knew and neither did they hate each other like the other half.

Until Al had pointed out the obvious to him a few years ago, he'd never even seen it, but it was plain as day.

"I heard someone say the other day… what was it? It was absolutely quaint." His mother's calm voice rang out, her fingers twirling the empty glass of wine with a thoughtful expression. "Counting worms?"

"How unsavoury, my dear," Draco replied, gently taking the empty glass from her hands and smiling at her. "Your mastery over vulgar idiomatic expressions will never cease to amaze me."

And, just like that, they'd forgotten he was even there.

"Well, it _is_ knowledge... after a sort. My personal favourite is 'pushing daisies'."

"It's the daintiest out of the lot, my dearest Ravenclaw. I'm not surprised you like it best."

His parents lived in a tiny world that they had built for themselves where no one else was really welcomed, merely tolerated.

It was the damnedest thing.

They loved him, sure, but they'd throw him under the bus without thinking twice if that had meant sparing the other a stubbed pinky toe.

He cleared his throat. His parents stopped whatever weird conversation it was that they were having and came crashing back down into reality.

Speaking of weird conversations.

"Dad, I-"

How had that carefully planned monologue started anyway?

"I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

Just when he'd finally mustered the courage to start again, the double doors that led from the drawing room to the parlor opened wide. From there emerged a white haired, elegant woman in light pink robes, her pale blue eyes still as sharp as they'd been twenty-years earlier.

"Scorpius, dearest," she clamored, holding out her hands to hold his and pulling him in, eyeing him from top to bottom with a critical look. After a few seconds of this, her lips tugged upwards and she pulled him in for a hug. "You should've told me he got here!" she protested, glaring reproachfully at Astoria. Never at Draco, no, never at Draco. "Oh dear, you look so handsome!"

"Thanks Grandma," Scorpius replied holding both her hands and giving them a kiss. "You look absolutely ravishing."

"That's very nice of you to say, dear. But unlike some of my peers who put on airs, _I'm_ aware that I'm positively ancient!"

"Nonsense, you don't look a day over fifty," Scorpius protested, letting go of one of her hands and twirling her around. "Don't think for one moment that I didn't notice the concièrge flirting with you the last time we went for lunch. It was positively scandalous."

"Oh, dear, flattery will get you _everywhere_," Narcissa beamed at her grandson and then at Draco. Never at Astoria. "You need to come visit your Grandmother more often. Now let me-"

And then the pleasant moment was over.

"Astoria, what on God's green earth is _that_?!" Narcissa took a few steps toward the window, her bright smile completely gone from her face as she examined the curtains. "Why… they're _blue._"

"Indeed they are," Astoria replied sedately. "They go beautifully with the new chaise longue."

"What happened to the silver and green brocade ones that were there before?" Narcissa inspected the couch, her nose crinkling with disgust. "And what about the lovely velvet ottoman?!"

"They were moldy, so I had them replaced. The ottoman was falling apart."

After the wizarding war, the house had fallen mostly in disrepair, what with the army of servants and house-elves being no más.

Without maintenance, protective spells had failed all around the house. The silver brocades and luxurious green velvets had been eaten by moths and the wood had lost its shine and fallen prey to wood bugs. Gold leaf had peeled and dulled, and the floorboards had molded and bent in some of the more humid parts of the house.

It had taken his mother _years_ after Narcissa had finally moved out to return the house to some semblance of inhabitability.

But Narcissa still complained, every single time.

"Those were priceless," Narcissa scowled. "You could just as easily have had them repaired."

"Quite," the accused replied, her voice chilled as a winter's day. Pesto, who had crawled to the corner of the room upon Narcissa's arrival, glared meaningfully at the woman sitting on the chaise longue. "But then I'd have to live with them."

"Well, you've always been the kind to appreciate function over form."

Scorpius was sure that was supposed to be a veiled insult of some sort.

"I know, I know." Astoria's calm expression hadn't shifted a single millimeter since the beginning of the conversation. "I'm quite incorrigible."

"Now Mother, can I get you a drink?" Draco fidgeted and walked toward the liquor cabinet. "Pixie wine,maybe?"

"Of all the wishy-washy things you could offer," Narcissa complained, rolling her eyes. "And no, you know I don't drink."

Not before five anyway. After that the woman was like a fish.

"How have you been, Grandma?"

"Quite lovely, dear. Did you get the little gift I sent for your new house?"

Oh he'd gotten it alright - there just had never seemed to be a good _time_ to hang the gargantuan grand chandelier he'd gotten in the mail. Or _place_ for that matter.

"Yes Grandma, it's just what I wanted. How did you know?!"

"Well, any new house needs light fixtures," was the woman's gracious retort. "It only made sense."

She still lived in a time where chandeliers and high ceilings were the norm. It'd kill her if she actually saw his place - which was partly why he made it a point to never, ever, _ever_ have her over. The other part was of course the fact that he lived with a Potter and a Weasley which was something that they'd all unanimously agreed she must never know about.

"Oh right, I almost forgot to tell you," Narcissa exclaimed, a pleasant smile on her face. "Astoria, I told you to remind me of it!"

"Oh yes," Astoria replied with a placid smile. "I quite forgot."

From the other corner of the room, Pesto, who had been in the process of cleaning his paws, growled lowly.

"We saw your _Weasley_ friend, the other day… Jane or Daisy or something of the sort… Merlin, what was her name? I recall it was something remarkably pedestrian…"

In her defense, at least she was _trying_, which was far more than he recalled. Talking to him about people he knew and who were in his generation rather than a string of middle aged people he'd never met and didn't wish to meet, was a definite improvement.

Maybe the old bat really _was_ dying as she so often claimed.

"Rose, Mother," Astoria interjected, calmly walking up to a side table and straightening a flower that had tipped over in a nearby arrangement. "It's Rose."

Scorpius inhaled sharply.

No, no, no, no, _no_.

_No_.

Just _no_.

_Not_ Rose.

Absolutely no good could come out of this.

Draco's eyebrows were furrowed, eyes shifting warily between his wife and his mother, exactly like a man caught in the crossfire.

"Why, yes, _that_. I knew it was something vulgar." Narcissa crossed her long legs, brushing a hand to straighten her immaculate white hair. "We went to St. Mungo's for a routine visit with dear, _dear_ Georgiana..." She paused and held out her hand for Draco to hold. "You remember her, don't you, dearest? Such a _beautiful_ girl, so kind, so talented!"

"Yes, Mother," he replied, giving his mother's hand an affectionate tug and cautiously eyeing his wife. "Georgie has done quite well for herself."

Ah yes, Georgie Selwyn. Mum's least favourite person in the whole world, Dad's former flame and Grandma's first choice for the role of the next Mrs. Malfoy some twenty something years back.

Pesto's ears perked up and he barked in the general direction of Narcissa before rushing over to nuzzle his head against Astoria's hip.

"You need to get rid of that dog, Astoria" snapped Narcissa, glaring at Pesto. "Hellhounds were all the rage a few years ago, but yours is just _ghastly_. Why, just the other day I was at Avery Manor and _their _hellhound-"

Yes, yes, Grandma. Mum's dog is shit and every other dog in the world is better, more svelte and less murder-y.

He looked over at Pesto who had sat down, impeccably straight, as if trying to prove he was indeed the best boy. The impression was only partially ruined by the fact that he was still glaring at Narcissa as if he'd like to take a chunky bite off of her.

"- I swear, you wouldn't even think they were the same _breed_! I bet you let it climb all over the furniture and run rampant around here. In my day-"

Ah, the "in my day" tirade: always refreshing with just the right amount of pedantic and judgmental with the smallest pinch of Pureblood prejudice.

"We've told you a million times before, Mother, we're _not_ getting rid of Pesto." Draco took a few lazy steps toward his wife and homicidal Fido and scratched his ears. "He's part of the family."

Every time, the same bloody conversations.

Every time, the bloody décor and Georgie Selwyn and Pesto's inadequacy and Scorpius' horrible taste in friends.

It was maddening.

"Why of course, dear, I was only jesting!" Narcissa gave a mirthless laughter and folded her hands on her lap, the very picture of wounded innocence. "I was just-"

He could see his father tensing in anticipation of the next string of inanity that would come from Grandma's mouth.

_Merlin_, time to take one for the team.

"You were saying about Rose, Grandma...?"

The silver haired woman looked over at him and grinned with adoration. Scorpius got up and sat down next to her on the velvet blue couch. He leaned forward with what he hoped _looked_ like anticipation, contrasting with the pit of dread in his stomach.

"Oh, right!" She looked over at him, blissfully unaware of the chaos she had been causing. "You see, we were over to see Georgie - did you know, she's the only Healer nowadays in that entire building who isn't a no-one?"

Ah, Grandma, and that low-key blood bias of hers, always a party favourite.

"And _that's_ when that shabby looking creature walks into the room, holding some files or charts or something! She barely looked human, didn't she Astoria?"

"Tired," replied Astoria with her habitual calm. "I think 'tired' is the word you're looking for, Mother."

Looking over at her, Scorpius wasn't sure how she managed to always sound unfailingly polite.

"Yes, Rose is quite hard-working," Draco chimed in, throwing Scorpius a compassionate look. "She was always rather brilliant, but her determination is just... something else."

"_Yes_, that's what I was saying!" Narcissa protested, impatiently tapping her heel on the marble floor. "Wide eyed and dishevelled and gaunt, you know what she reminded me of?"

"No, Grandma." Scorpius rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "_What_ did she remind you of?"

"A house-elf, fancy that!" Narcissa looked delighted, a peal of laughter erupting from her throat at the irony. "Her mother was always so keen on 'saving' the wretched things and now she's got a daughter that _looks_ like one."

Oh wow.

"They're just called Elves now, Mother," Draco corrected her patiently. They'd been over this time and time again. "And from what I remember, Rose looks nothing like one."

Just… _wow_.

To his surprise, Pesto started growling. It was a low, throaty growl that sounded nothing like anything he'd heard before. It wasn't the protective gnarl reserved for his mother or the snarl that he sometimes used when something upset his father.

It took him a few seconds before he realized Pesto was growling for _his_ benefit.

"She's quite a lovely girl," Astoria continued, gently stroking Pesto's ears. The hellhound quickly composed himself and went back to pretending to be a china dog. Scorpius could have sworn he saw a glimpse of a smile on his mother's face. "Unfailingly polite too. As soon as she saw us she came over to say hello."

"Merlin, you all take this so seriously," Narcissa chuckled airily. "I didn't say she looked ugly, I just said she looks like a house-elf!"

"Just Elf," replied Astoria and Draco at the same time.

"I swear, you two are becoming milder and more spineless with every passing year." Narcissa pouted and smoothed down her skirt. "This isn't how you were _raised_! What are you so afraid of? It's just us here."

Thank Merlin for that.

"One can't say anything nowadays! It's Elves this, and Creatures of The Night that, and freedom of speech for everyone… but you say You-Know-Who was a brilliant wizard and suddenly everyone is offended."

And there it was.

The Speech.

"Grandma, that's not-"

"What about _my_ freedom of speech, in my own house?" She gazed reproachfully at her son and he shifted uncomfortably. "I swear, you're so busy pandering to those Potters and Weasleys and the rest of those other social climbers who profited from the war, that you've forgotten all about the fact that you're _Malfoys_!"

The Messed Up Speech.

The one that popped up in the most inconvenient, often public situations. It was enough to drive a man mad. Back when he was younger, before he'd gone to Hogwarts, The Speech hadn't been a big deal.

Nowadays, however, it was just plain embarrassing.

"Really Draco, you really should stand up for yourself. Remember when your Father was alive? We used to be-"

Pesto snarled. His mother's face was an impassive mask, a single finger lightly curled around the Hellhound's collar.

"You mean in the good old days, when Father pandered to _Voldemort_?" Draco had paled considerably and his tone was sharp. Hearing his father say You-Know-Who's name was always… _something_. "Just… _shut_ _up_."

Narcisa gasped, her thin eyebrows knitting together in a frown. "Why, I never-"

"No, I swear if you're going to talk about it like it was wonderful-"

"Darling, you're being rude," Astoria tittered, her free hand softly brushing against her husband's arm. He visibly relaxed at her touch, and his eyes softened. "Your mother simply meant... things are _different_ now."

Of course that wasn't what she meant. But it was a lifeline.

One that he was taking.

"Did you see-"

"How was your-"

Astoria and him spoke at the same time. Apparently his mother had the same instinct as him. His gaze met hers and he smiled ruefully. "You first."

"How was your date with Adelia?"

Oh, her change of conversation was far better than his. He'd meant to ask whether Grandma had seen the new Fairy Lights that they'd filled Gringotts with.

This was more up Grandma's alley.

"Adelia...?" The old woman frowned for a second and then her pale eyes brightened. "You don't mean Addy _Shawcross_, do you?"

Unfortunately, yes, she did.

"Yeah." Now how to put it. "Well, she was very nice but-"

Fortunately his grandmother didn't share his scruples.

"Oh, Merlin you can say it outright. The girl looks like a _fish_." Narcissa chuckled, holding out her hand and patting his. "Really, Astoria, you set him up with _Addy Shawcross_?"

"Like he said, she's a very nice girl." Astoria shrugged. "And she comes from a great family, I thought you'd be pleased."

"Well, they _are_ still filthy rich," Narcissa said, tilting her head to the side. "But Scorpius could do so much better."

"He could, but not if he keeps rejecting them for no good reason," Draco chimed in, a grin on his face. He had finally relaxed, watching his mother and wife bicker about a less sensitive topic. "Astoria's set him up with far less… fishy girls before."

"I'm sure he just has the sense not to settle for someone inferior," his grandmother said, eyeing him proudly. "I'm sure they weren't right."

"Clarissa Marfont was," added his mother, rather unhelpfully. "Her laugh annoyed him."

"And Nina Gérard," Draco chimed in. "Her accent was frustrating."

"Mélanie Lussier was too candid." Astoria was counting on her fingers now. "Alessandra Ferroni wasn't candid enough."

"Merlin, not to mention Kate Towler," his dad pointed out, shaking his head. "I'll never understand why you broke up with her, she's absolutely delightful."

Ah, Kate! He'd forgotten Kate on the list of recurring topics, but here she was.

Few people realised that Kate Towler and him were as incompatible as water and oil. She was still a really good friend and perfect in almost every possible aspect, just not someone he could see himself with. Not anymore.

"Fine, maybe they were right," said Grandma, turning up her nose at the mention of Kate. "Maybe they just weren't right for _him_."

Her motives weren't exactly pure: Kate was not part of the roster of inbred pureblood debutants and was therefore undesirable. Still, Scorpius, who had been feeling honestly so attacked, stretched out his hand to hold hers and gave it a kiss.

For all her flaws, Grandma usually had his back.

"What about Angèlique?"

Or maybe not.

"Angèlique? Angie? Bu- She-" That was wrong in so many ways he didn't even know where to begin. "For one she's my _cousin._"

"So what?" Narcissa asked, chuckling gaily. "You like her."

"She's _eighteen_, for Merlin's sake!" He was stuttering wildly and he looked over at his parents for support. They shrugged. To them there was nothing wrong with marrying in the family. "She's a _child_!"

"Don't be ridiculous! You're twenty-one, not forty."

"Nope. Not Angie. Never Angie." The mere thought made him gag. _Merlin_, she was still like _five_. Or at least that was how he saw her. "No, _no_."

"Yes, Mother," replied Draco, finally stepping in. "They've known each other forever."

"And there are plenty of eligible girls out there."

There really weren't. Not by Malfoy standards anyway.

"Scorpius will have no trouble finding someone."

"Despite the state this wretched society has fallen to," Narcissa replied, a condescending smile on her face, "something that's changed for the better, is that he'll get to pick and choose who he ends up with."

Anyone… as long as she was part of the small pool of inbred purebloods, of course.

He was aware of the expectations: find a nice pureblood girl, marry her and produce a flock of little pureblood, astronomy named-after children.

He also knew that it was never, _ever_ going to happen.

This shit ended with him.

"How's the Dower House, Grandma?"

There was a sweetness in his voice that contrasted with the anger he felt.

"You'd know if you came to visit more often. Duffy finally managed to make the primroses stick on the east garden and they're looking quite lovely."

He loved his family. He loved this house, despite its broken-down drawing rooms and its unsavoury history. He loved Pesto and, surprisingly enough, he loved his Grandmother. He'd even loved his Grandfather, back when he'd been too young to not dislike him on principle alone.

But he didn't want this for himself.

He wondered if the Weasley or Potter offspring spent their family gatherings ping-ponging from topic to topic in hopes they might find one that was safe for everyone.

He was guessing not.

"We've been trying to grow them for years with no success." Astoria sat down on one of the chairs facing the chaise-longue. "How did he do it?"

"Well, it was a combination of…"

The conversation seamlessly shifted to gardening and the wonderful new fertilizer Grandma's gardener Duffy had found from a local Potioneer. There was talk of how Giant jasmins were far superior to regular sized ones and how the Hellebores had really come into their own this winter.

As he saw his father laughing at something his Grandmother had said about garden gnomes, and his mother smiling beatifically while she stroked Pesto's soft ears, Scorpius found himself carefully pondering whether or not talking to his parents really was necessary.

By dinner time, when the roast goose was being carved on the table, he'd already edited down his little speech for the upteenth time, trying to make it less hazardous.

By the time the christmas pudding was being set on the table, he had realised beyond any shadow of a doubt that talking to them would only serve to spoil an otherwise perfectly nice Christmas.

And when the gifts were being unwrapped the next morning, as he stood, surrounded by crumpled wrapping paper and assorted gifts from various relatives (some of whom he'd never met) he decided it was best to just wait.

Perhaps indefinitely.

Which meant this was something he needed to figure out on his own.


	15. Sweat And Other Bodily Fluids Aren't Always Sexy

**December 26th, 2027 - 02h45**

The fireplace crackled.

Rose stopped scowling at the indecipherable Pediatrics report her sleep deprived brain had produced before Christmas and found herself looking at the flushed face of Scorpius Malfoy.

Oh, great.

She'd really hoped the blonde boy might prefer to extend his stay at his parents' place. When Al had told her he was going to Yardley's for a Christmas party she'd almost jumped for joy at the unexpected respite.

She felt hollow after spending the holidays at The Burrow. She felt drained and tired and done with the world. Not physically - she'd hardly had a better night's sleep these past few months - just… emotionally.

There were only so many different ways she could try to explain that she had no life to people who refused to accept it.

'But surely you could find time for lunch' and 'Really, Rose, you're being overdramatic'. 'Come on, we could all go out for dinner'.

She wanted to _scream_ at them. She loved them, but everyone needed to take a chill pill and lay off her.

If she never saw another human being again it'd be too soon.

It was fortunate then that Scorpius Malfoy hardly qualified as one.

The blonde tosser was dragging a series of bags behind him, undoubtedly the spoils of his Christmas. He looked like he was here to stay.

He was also wearing the most appalling robes she'd ever laid eyes on.

"You look happy." There was a tinge of sarcasm to Scorp's words as he haphazardly dumped the bags on a nearby chair. "Good Christmas?"

No unreasonable insults, no infantile name-calling, _nothing_.

It was so _odd_. Pleasant, but still odd, like there was something missing.

"What in Morgana's name are you _wearing_?" Rose asked between chuckles as she took in his attire. "What _is_ that?"

Civility be damned, she'd never in her entire life seen such obnoxious party robes as the one Scorp was donning right now. If a lace shop and a bucket of green paint decided to get married and have babies, that robe would be the unfortunate offspring.

"Grandma's gift," he replied, removing the monstrosity and carefully draping it over the bags. "It's unspeakable, isn't it?"

He sat down on the chair closest to her and crossed his arms on top of one of her book piles, looked as tired and done with the world as she felt. The man was apparently immune to the holly-bloody-jolly madness that was affecting everyone else.

It made her want to hug him.

This might not be so bad after all.

"There are no words," Rose replied, a smile growing on her lips. "Grandma Molly sent you a gift. It's somewhere in my bags if you're keen."

She didn't need to tell him what it was, he bloody well knew. The man had been receiving the mandatory Weasley jumper ever since he had showered Grandma's pie with compliments that one time back in Third Year.

Sly of him, yes.

"You're damned right I am. She's the only one who ever gets my size right," Scorp huffed, throwing a disdainful nod at the general direction of his discarded gifts. "I got ten of them and not a single one is a proper fit."

Truth be told, Grandma Molly didn't bother knowing what size people were nowadays. A few years back Al had managed to charm his to be a perfect fit and since then all the Weasley jumpers came magicked that way.

Rose always pretended she didn't know and always made a big fuss about it - Grandma always got a nice flush on her face, she was so pleased.

She wasn't about to let Malfoy in on it. The wanker always got a picture embroidered on his, though by now Grandma Weasley was bound to be out of Quidditch references: she'd done Bludgers, brooms, Puddlemere's logo...

And all Rose ever got was a bloody 'R'.

"What are you frowning about?" One of Scorp's hands lazily reached over, his fingers smoothing over the crease between her eyebrows. "And why aren't you at Yardley's party?"

It was meant to be a nice gesture.

The second he touched her every single one of her Healer instincts kicked into gear at the same time.

"Your hands are freezing." Rose grasped his hand between her own and held it in place for a second.

He _was_ looking rather flushed as he tried to wiggle his hand away from her grasp. She eyed him critically for a few seconds, taking in the too shiny eyes, the flushed countenance.

She would've spotted it the second he walked in had she not been so immersed on those stupid robes.

"I'm bloody fine."

Hopefully, he was right.

"Don't be a baby," Rose scowled, getting up to her feet. "We've had Shivers running rampant this year. Were there any kids at your place?"

She reached out to feel his forehead and he dodged out of the way, like the pest he was.

She hated sick people.

"Stop it woman," he complained, smacking her hand out of the way. "I feel _fine_."

Rose gritted her teeth. It took every single ounce of self restraint to stop herself from tackling him right there and then.

"Were there kids, Scorp? Yay or nay?"

She.

Hated.

Sick.

People.

"Sure there were. A bunch of sticky fingered brats."

The perfect vessel for Shivers. Kids incubated slower and tended to spread the damned bug all over the place before anyone knew what was happening.

"Goddamnit, Malfoy." Rose planted her hands on his cheeks and held his face. "Stop squirming."

"Back to Malfoy, are we?" He was more flushed now, if that was even possible. "I liked Scorp better."

"Only when you're being a pain," Rose grinned, not so gently slapping a hand onto his forehead. "Which you are."

He was burning up and not in a Pretty-Girl-Is-Touching-My-Face way, no.

Burning. Up.

There went her stupid Pediatrics report. In ten hours they'd both be bedridden like a couple of idiots.

And Rose Weasley was the biggest idiot of all, touching him without inoculating herself like that. She might as well have ordered a vial of infection to go with her morning coffee.

"Come on, we're getting you to St. Mungo's," Rose said, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. "We'd better send word to your parents too."

Malfoy Manor was probably an incubator for Shivers right now.

Lovely, just lovely.

"Can't I just take a potion or something?"

Ah, this.

There was no potion that could stop the Shivers, per say. If she were lucky getting it caught this early might spare her some vomiting, but Scorp had a nasty week coming his way.

The thing with Shivers was that you had to ride it out. There was no shortcut.

First you put up with the shaking and the high fever. Then the magical bit of the bug kicked in and you were given the joyful gift of hot flashes and persistent vomiting.

When your body finally managed to fight back, you would just collapse into a coma of sorts, completely unaware of your surroundings and shriek yourself hoarse. Of all the stages it was the least work. There was no vomit to clear, no sweaty sheets to change.

It was also the most emotionally draining.

And then there was the regular sniffles, dripping nose and itchy throat that came with any stupid cold.

"Sorry, I _just _ran out of Miracle Cures." Irony tinged her words as she helplessly felt her pockets with her hands as if looking for an imaginary vial. "If you'd only gotten here ten minutes earlier-"

"Oh, _shut_ up."

"_You_ shut up, Patient Zero. I'll be out of commission for a bloody week at the very least." She met Scorp's too bright gray eyes and asked, her lips set in a thin line: "Do you feel like you want to hurl?"

Thank Merlin for that stupid party.

At least Al would come out of this unscathed.

"Every time I look at you," he replied, obnoxiously grinning up at her. "Every single day."

Wanker.

Rose couldn't help grinning back at him. For someone about to be whisked away on a midnight stroll to St. Mungo's just a day after Christmas he was behaving rather well. She'd always pictured him as a fussy baby when it came to this, more like Albus and less like… well, her.

"Seriously, though."

She grabbed one of his warmer robes from the coat rack and tossed it at him.

"Not at the moment, no." He picked it up and wrapped it around himself. "Should I?"

"Let's hope you stay that way."

Hopefully she was wrong.

Hopefully he was fine. Maybe he'd caught a spot of cold and was just feverish.

Working at St. Mungo's always had you guessing the worse. It could be just that: a regular, run of the mill, non-magical cold.

Rose picked up her own jacket and pulled one of Al's scarves from the rack. She walked over to Scorpius and decisively draped it around his neck, almost choking him with it.

Again, he didn't complain.

"You're being rather nice about all this," Rose commented, eyeing him warily.

"You're the Healer," he replied, shrugging and pulling the scarf to give himself some breathing room. "Should I kick up a fuss instead?"

"Nah," she replied, taking his freezing hand into her own and picking up her wand from the nearby bowl. "Please don't."

* * *

**December 26th, 2027 - 04h10**

Sometimes she hated being right.

By the time she had managed to track down Choi, Scorp was shaking like a leaf and his forehead was so hot you could have used it to fry an egg.

"You know we can't keep him here."

Yes, Scorp would have needed to be much more far gone to be admitted. She could of course sit with him for another day and come back tomorrow, let him incubate for a while and come back when he _really_ was dying.

Wishful thinking.

Rose's scowl met Choi's.

The man opened up a cabinet and started removing familiar vials from them. There was everything from hydration potions to gastric liners there.

"Ride it out. By now you know the drill but I'm writing it down anyway."

Just in case she was too stupid to remember it tomorrow after the Shivers kicked in, was what he meant.

"Thanks."

"I don't want to see you around for two weeks. I'll talk to Jeffers and the rest and let them know you'll be away."

Great, now she was being banned from her place of employment.

"What about my work?"

"I'll have Alec Sauvage take care of it." He always said the guy's name in that deliberate, unpleasant way that he reserved for the people he really, truly disliked. "Merry Christmas, Miss Weasley."

Maybe Choi _did _have a sense of humor after all.

* * *

"Al, don't come home," Rose told him over the phone as she tried to juggle the bazillion potions Choi had given her. "Malfoy's got the Shivers."

To be frank, the moment he'd touched her forehead there was a 50% chance he'd given them to her. When she'd touched him without inoculating herself, like a bloody amateur, that's when she'd caught it for sure.

Amusing to think she was depending on her immune system to tide her over. The way she'd been going for the past two years, she doubted she even had one anymore.

"Shit, do you want me to come over?"

"_No_, are you an idiot? _Anything_ but that. It's a bloody mess. Can you stay at Yardley's?"

"Sure. Do you need anything?"

Scorp wordlessly started grabbing potions out of her arms and stuffing them inside his much larger robe pockets.

She threw him a thankful look.

"Just stay the hell away," she told Al. "I might be able to take care of both of us but if I have to Scourgify for three I may kill myself."

"I'll ask Horace to get you guys some chicken soup!"

That had been Yardley, of course. Judging from the slurred way the two of them were talking, they were happily buzzed already.

"Not for a few days. Tell him to send it over around Friday."

"Sure thing, Rosie. Get better!"

Hopefully the two idiots would remember not to come prancing around the next morning.

"Here we go," Rose said, sitting down next to Scorp, a hand brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face. "Come on."

He didn't move, looking over at her with a frown.

"What, _now_ you're going to be difficult?" Her lips pursed and she scowled back at him. "Really?"

There was no way she could drag him by herself if he didn't want to go. She could probably get him to the lobby with the Ant Carrying spell, but she couldn't very well stuff him into the Floo, he'd undoubtedly wind up somewhere weird.

Maybe she should just carry his ass back home by walking. The flat was close by. Maybe-

"I'm sorry."

Her eyebrows shot up. Scorp had been awfully quiet since they'd gotten to St. Mungo's and he chose to break his vow of silence to apologize? For something that wasn't even his fault?

Odd to think this was the same asshole she'd gone to Hogwarts with.

"I know, dear, I know." He looked so miserable it made her heart hurt. She took his shaking hands into her own, pulling him up to his feet. "Let's get you home."

"For what it's worth, you're-"

But she never really knew what she was because Scorp chose that moment to barf all over her.

Just. Lovely.

* * *

Luckily, Jesse Boot had been on call and he'd helped her get Scorp home. The pair of them had set out to gather every clean sheet and every clean pair of pajamas in the house, stockpiling them like they were made of gold.

He helped her extend the couch wide and far enough that they managed to fit Scorp's mattress on top of it, creating a makeshift sofa-bed of sorts. The pair gathered towels, tea mugs and other assorted necessities, removed any breakables out of the way and cleared the path to and from the bathroom, preparing the house for the onslaught of sweat and barf that would hit the following day.

"You sure you don't want me to swing by?"

"_Don't_!" Her tone had come out a little sharper than she intended and she quickly corrected herself: "Thanks so much Jesse. We'll be fine."

If there was anything she hated more than being sick it was having people fussing over her.

And Jesse was a _fusser_.

She'd seen him worrying himself silly over multiple patients and had vowed never to let him anywhere near her even if she were dying.

_Especially_ if she were dying.

"You sure? I can move here for a couple of days-"

Hell to the bloody no. She'd rather eat dirt.

"No, no, really, you've done more than enough already."

"If you do need me, I'm a call away."

"I know," she said sheepishly, glancing at the earnest face of her co-worker. "Thanks."

"Remember, plenty of fluids. And don't let Malfoy get cold. And make sure you have food for when you guys get better-"

"I know Jess. I know."

Rose sighed with relief as he finally left. The man was _exhausting_. Great person, but so tiresome. She peered into the fireplace, wondering for a second if she should blacklist him from their Floo, at least while this lasted.

Maybe not. If things got really bad… ah, but she didn't want to go there, did she?

This whole endeavour was entirely based on her delusion that she could hold the fort. If she started mulling over the million things that could go wrong, she might as well give up now.

"You hanging in there?" Rose looked over at Scorp, who was lying on the couch. They'd dragged his duvet from his room and he was practically buried in it. "Want me to get you a cup of tea?"

He'd managed to get into fresh pajamas himself this once but she figured it was only a matter of time before she ended up seeing Scorp naked and vice-versa, which, truth be told, was going to be far more mortifying for him than it would be for her.

At the end of the day, naked people were just that: naked people. She'd seen a million of them, she hardly noticed it anymore.

"_Can_ you make tea?"

Pretty chirpy for someone who'd hurled his Christmas dinner all over her.

"Tea doesn't burn," she pointed out, shaking her head at him and getting up to her feet. "I might just manage."

"Then yeah."

Rose returned a few minutes later to find him asleep. She quietly set down the mug close to him on one of the side tables Jesse had helped move. Scorp stirred in his sleep and she backed away slowly, not wanting to wake him. She sat down at her usual spot, her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched one of the healthiest people she knew shudder and writhe in his sleep.

She'd seen sick people, hell, her life was filled to the brim with them. And yet somehow this was new and different. It made her heart ache.

It was going to be a crummy couple of days.

* * *

**December 27th, 2027 - 02h20**

"Come on, mate, you gotta help me here," she groaned, as she forcefully pulled Scorp onto a sitting position. "Shirt off."

He was drenched in sweat and his body temperature had just taken a nosedive.

The seemingly endless pile of pajamas he owned - seriously, there were like a million of them - was starting to look sparse and it had only been a day. And she was starting to feel a bit… iffy, to say the least.

The corpse of a man complied, his face as pale as the sheets he was lying in. Scorp pulled the shirt over his head and allowed her to cast a drying spell on him before slipping into the new one.

"You're going to need to shower soon. I can help if you want."

She could _still_ help. In a few hours that wouldn't be the case anymore.

"I'd rather drown in my own sweat," he scowled, looking away as if he were incapable of looking her in the eye, "thank you very much."

To his credit, Scorp was pretty much the ideal patient. He'd spent the past twenty hours quietly allowing her to manhandle him, through and through.

Unfortunately it seemed he drew the line at her giving him a shower, which he was in desperate need of.

"It's your call. I still think-"

"Pants," he demanded, holding out a hand to her. "Please."

Ah yes, the other line Scorp refused to cross. Pants.

It was kind of cute in a sickeningly naive sort of way.

What, he thought she'd never seen a naked man before?

"Sure," she replied, handing him the matching pants and throwing him an interrogative look. "Are you-"

Oh great. At this point Scorp's pre-hurling grimace had been carved into her mind.

She wordlessly dropped the pants and handed him a basin instead. A few horrific moments of heaving and a Scourgify later and all was good.

"Better?" Rose picked up a towel and handed it to him. "You've been awfully quiet."

Apart of course from the occasional groans and moans that took her right back to Choi's class.

"Have I mentioned how bloody sorry I am?"

He looked it.

There was absolutely nothing attractive about him at the moment. Between the angry flush, the matted hair pasted to his forehead and the fact that she'd seen every single meal he'd ingested coming out in reverse order, he'd never been more disgusting.

Yet in a way, she had never liked him more.

"Only a million times," Rose said, forcing a smile onto her face and hiding her hands behind her back. "It's fine."

Except of course, it wasn't.

Her hands had started to shake an hour ago.

"It's _not_," Scorp scoffed, rubbing the towel over his face and tossing it at her. "And don't pretend you're okay, you're so obviously _not_."

"Sod off." Rose's admittedly shaky hands grasped the towel and she dumped it into the basket along with the sweaty pajamas and the ever growing pile of drenched bedsheets. "You want me to ask your parents to pick you up?"

The horrified look on his face said it all.

She'd asked him about it right off the bat and that same look of dismay had come up. She was sure it resembled hers when he had asked her if she wouldn't rather stay at _her_ parents.

"You're a bloody tyrant," he sputtered, picking up the fresh cup of tea she'd placed next to him and sipping it quietly. "Shouldn't you… I don't know, get in here?"

That had been the plan all along, hadn't it?

Coexisting on the damned couch for a week for the sake of convenience.

Her own room wouldn't allow her to go in.

Al's charm was just a tad too strong. It wouldn't allow a sick person to go in because of the stupid soundproofing. One time she'd gotten a paper cut and it had kicked her out on her ass.

Despite repeated protests, Al had never gotten around to fixing it.

Still, even if it did work, having the two of them in the same room was just more practical. Moreover, she'd be damned if she was going to be cooped up in Scorp's Man Cave for a week, even if it _did_ have an ensuite.

"Not yet," Rose replied, scowling at the pile of clothes. "You don't think you could squeeze out a laundry spell in that state, do you?"

On a good day she was useless with domestic spells. On a bad one, what with her hands shaking the way they were… she might accidentally burn down the house instead.

She could do a Scourgify blindfolded but hand her a dirty dish and she was practically helpless.

"Hand me my wand, will you?"

She did.

Ten minutes later Scorp was dry heaving into the basin again and the pile of sheets and pajamas was freshly laundered and folded on the side table.

* * *

**December 28th, 2027 - 05h10**

It was the forty-eight hour mark and they'd gotten the routine pegged down at this point. Every two hours or so one of them would wake up drenched in their own sweat. Scorp would use his impeccable skills at making beds to swap the sheets and wash them while Rose would drag herself up to pick up the potions and make them a fresh pot of tea.

Then there was the whole pajamas swapping ordeal which implied she needed to dry the pair of them before they swapped into the freshly laundered ones.

It was always a moment of undue tension, grating their already paper thin nerves.

"You can't just bloody take your shirt off like that!" Scorp barked, turning away and flushing furiously. "At least wait until I'm not looking!"

"Yes, I'm sure I'm just _oozing_ sex appeal right now," Rose spat back, slipping on a new top. "_However_ will you control yourself?"

"Don't you have _any_ semblance of shame?"

"You _do_ know people are naked under their clothes, right?"

"Merlin, I _hate_ you!"

"No, you don't."

Fun times.

* * *

By the third day, Scorp collapsed. It took every inch of will power she had in her to do alone what the pair of them had been doing together. The well oiled machine had crumpled and Rose wondered, more than once, if she should call Jesse over.

The mere thought made her tap into reserves of strength she didn't know she had in her.

Especially when Scorp started screaming out in the middle of the night.

* * *

**January 1st, 2028**

Rose wiggled her crusty eyes open, shielding them from the light that was coming from the window. There was no sound coming from Scorp's side of the bed, no tossing, no turning.

That might just be because he wasn't there.

She sat upright, her eyes desperately searching for the blonde boy.

Had he fallen? Was he dead?

No, of course not.

He was just sitting there at _her _usual spot by the fireplace, reading a book and looking rather lively for someone who'd been completely unresponsive a few hours ago.

"You're looking better," Rose groaned, pushing the oily mop that passed for her hair away from her eyes. Her voice was cracked and squawkey and hardly there at all. She cleared her throat only to find that it made no difference. "_Are_ you better?"

If looks were any indication, yes, he was. He'd be the last person in the world you'd imagine having spent the past four days bedridden. At the very least he'd showered and was back up on his feet, which was more than she expected.

"Much," Scorp said, getting up and taking a seat on the couch arm closest to her and placing a hand on her forehead. "How are you?"

She glared at him and he mechanically held a basin out to her.

There wasn't anything to throw up at this point but her body was still rather keen on it.

She could feel his hands gently pulling her hair back and for a second all she wanted to do was cry.

"Peachy." She didn't even have the strength to protest as Scorp took the basin and scourgified whatever little drool she'd managed to produce. "I'm _so_ sorry."

"I think we're over that, love."

Scorp sat back down and handed her a cup of tea which Rose eagerly took. She felt like she hadn't had a drink in days, which was ridiculous because…

_Wait_ a minute.

"What…" Rose hesitated and tried her best to get a look at the Grandfather clock. "What _time_ is it?"

"You've been pretty out of it for about... thirty-six hours. Happy New Year."

Oh great, she'd lost two days. That explained the throat and the fact that her lips were so dry they were practically peeling off.

It was then that she noticed her pajamas were… not… hers. She looked up at him and then down at her pajamas then back at Scorpius.

She certainly didn't _remember _putting them on.

A single, horrifying notion assaulted her.

"Did you…?"

"Yeah." He looked far less embarrassed than she would have expected. "Shouldn't I have?"

"No, no, you did good." Rose shook her head, trying to sound dismissive. "I mean it. Who'd have dreamed you'd get over your squeamish-"

"It's called shame," Scorp scowled, taking the cup of tea from her hands. "You should get some."

She could feel her cheeks flushing and it had absolutely nothing to do with the Shivers.

"It's nothing you haven't seen a million times."

She was saying it more for her benefit than his.

What now, she was fine with seeing people naked and undressing in front of them but _him_ changing _her _was cause for awkwardness?!

_Really?_

"Take a shower," Scorp replied, his lips pursed into a thin line. "You'll feel better."

She realized it wasn't so much the thought of him changing her that bothered her. It was the thought of the man-child who couldn't bear to see an inch of flesh doing it for her.

It made her feel warm and cozy and happy and loved and goddamnit, this was ridiculous.

"Are _you_? Feeling better, I mean?"

"Have been just fine for about a day-and-a-half," Scorp replied, grabbing her arm and helping her up to her feet. "I woke up and you were dead in the water. I had to call Jesse over. You're right, he's incredibly annoying."

Oh bloody great, he'd invited Jesse in.

"Tell me you told him to bugger off and never come back," Rose groaned, leaning on the couch arm for support. "The man's like a bloody boomerang, he'll just keep coming back if you let him."

"I kicked him out," Scorp replied, grinning back at her. "I don't think he'll like me very much after this."

"Bless you."

"He said…" Scorp hesitated, grabbing hold of her arm and holding her steady. "He said it might take you a while longer to get back on your feet."

Oh, lovely. Just… bloody… lovely.

"I feel fine." Rose gritted her teeth and looked up at the concerned face of her foe turned friend turned partner in sickness. "Jesse's a worry-wart."

She was lying of course.

Scorp was an able bodied person who took care of himself.

She was an insomniac with a penchant for undereating who hadn't exercised since before she'd left Hogwarts.

The math wasn't hard.

"Do you need help?"

She was a grown ass woman and she'd be damned if she was about to let Scorpius Malfoy help her _shower_.

"No." Rose paused and looked at the arm, the only thing keeping her upright. "But if you could drop me over at the loo I'd be fine with it."

* * *

It was all fine and dandy when he was the gross one or when they were both repulsive.

However right now, he was looking fresh as a daisy whereas she… oh, Merlin. Rose looked at the mirror and took in the sunken cheeks, chapped lips and pasty red hair sticking to her head at odd angles. She looked at the discarded oversized pajamas, which were either Al's or Scorp's and the still crusty eyes that she hadn't properly wiped.

She didn't suppose she'd ever looked worse.

She survived the tribulation that was bathing through will-power alone. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd managed to run a bath and throw herself into it without falling flat on her face.

In the end he turned out to be right: she did feel better. She was still shaking but at least she wasn't human garbage anymore.

Rose stepped out of the bathroom and eyed him accusingly.

"Did you drop me in the shower while I was out?!"

"Merlin, no," Scorp replied, lifting his eyes from his book and meeting her gaze. "It was hard enough undressing you with my eyes closed."

"Thanks," Rose said, sitting down on the couch. "I just wasn't half as disgusting as I'd expected."

He'd swapped the sheets while she was gone. She could feel the faint scent of vanilla as she slipped her feet into the clean sheets. If he was bothering with fruity smells he probably _was _feeling better.

"After a while you stopped sweating. You just…" Scorp was staring at her with a blank look on his face. "Well, you know."

She did.

The symptoms for that particular phase of the Shivers would make every tormented soul in hell take a step back and re-evaluate their performance. It had taken her months to get used to it in St. Mungo's and she was no delicate flower.

Scorp had put up with it for one, almost two days.

He'd even held the fort when Jesse had offered to take over.

Any sane person would have taken the chance to run the hell away.

He _hadn't_.

"Why didn't you _leave_?" Rose eyed the boy, who was calmly reading his book as if he hadn't spent the past few days coexisting with a screaming lump of flesh. "You rang the New Year _here_? By yourself?"

"What are you, crazy?" Scorp snickered disdainfully at her from his seat. "What was I supposed to do, leave you? Alone? Like _that_?"

"You didn't _have_ to. You could've just called my mum or Jesse or-"

"Merlin, you _are_ thick." Scorp got up to his feet and sat down next to her, giving her shoulders a gentle shove to push her back onto her pillows. He grabbed the duvet and pulled it around her, enclosing her in a warm cocoon. "After you took care of me you just expected me to bail on you?"

"Of course I did. I'd understand."

Truthfully, she would have. It _was_ understandable, he was a bloody _Quidditch Player_, for crying out loud! He had no business being around sick people. He hadn't sworn an oath. He owed her _nothing_.

The shocking thing wouldn't be him leaving… it was the fact he'd stayed.

"You just have the _lowest_ opinion of me, don't you?!"

There was something fierce about the way he said it that made her flush to the roots of her hair.

"I just-" Rose stuttered. "I don't. I mean, I did..."

Not anymore she didn't.

"You're my _friend_. If I can't even stick around when you need me, what good am I?" Scorp picked up the cup of tea she discarded earlier, gave it a small whirl with his wand and handed it back to her. "Now drink your bloody tea before I smack you."

She did just that, quietly sipping the tea that he'd made.

It tasted _nothing_ like the swamp water she'd been making for the past few days.

"Good girl."

"You really need to work on your bedside manner." Her voice came out hoarse and broken. Rose cleared her throat, aware of an uncomfortable lump that had just lodged its way there. "Tyrant."

"Learned it from the worst." His hand reached over to stroke her hair and for a few seconds Rose could've sworn her heart had given up on beating. "Now get some bloody sleep and we'll see if you're up for eating something in a few hours. Horace brought over soup."

Rose rolled over to her other side and pulled the covers close around her, her eyes wide as saucers.

What the hell had just happened?

* * *

Her breathing had finally fallen into a slow, steady rhythm.

Scorp scowled at the red haired figure peacefully slumbering on the couch, blissfully unaware of the hell she'd put him through in the past thirty something hours.

He gave himself a mental pat on the back for managing to look her in the eye and wondered, for the millionth time, why anyone in their right mind would choose to do this for a living.

The truth was he _had_ considered leaving.

Not only that, he had been perfectly content to.

He'd woken up from his coma to find one of her bony hands clutching his for dear life. She'd been drenched, the puddle of sweat below her almost spreading to his side.

When he'd tried to wake her up, he had realised he couldn't.

She just wouldn't open her eyes.

No matter how hard he shook her, how many times he cursed, how many names he called her, she was out cold.

It had taken him perhaps a bit longer than it should have to get his senses together and realize that no, she wasn't dead and that yes, she'd wake up… eventually.

And so he did what he knew: picked her up, swapped the sheets, swapped her pajamas (albeit in the dark, closing his eyes shut and dying of absolute embarrassment), stuffed one or two of the yellow vials down her throat and waited.

Riding it out, they said.

He could do that.

He had deceived himself into thinking he had it all under control. He had _really_ thought he'd be ready for the yelling. Rose had warned him over and over again that it would happen. He'd scoffed and dismissed her as being overdramatic.

She _wasn't_ being overdramatic and he certainly _hadn't_ been ready.

The second she'd started screaming like a Banshee, Scorp had showered, put on some real clothes, packed a suitcase and called Yardley begging for asylum. His foot had been halfway out the door, itching to run as far away from this mess as he could.

He'd summoned Jesse Boot, all but ready to hand in the reigns and hit the road, because really, she'd fare best in the future Healer's capable hands, wouldn't she?

Sure, he was annoying and sure, he was fussy but really, between him and Jesse Boot… who was the saner choice? Who would take better care of the writhing, howling mess that was laying on the couch?

Moreover, Jesse wouldn't actually mind taking care of her whereas he'd rather be anywhere but here.

How was he even an option?

Boot hadn't even stepped out of the fireplace before Scorp felt like he'd made a horrible, horrible mistake.

By the time the bespectacled Healer had dropped the armload of multicoloured potions he was carrying, Scorp already knew he wasn't going _anywhere_.

As he watched the man hovering above the screaming mess that was Rose, with his kind smile and his endless good humour, Scorp had become certain of two things:

One: he'd never disliked anyone as much as he did Jesse Boot.

Two: he'd be damned if he was leaving Rose to this overzealous moron.

For starters, she'd go batty. Jesse Boot might be a Healer, but he was the most insufferable person he'd ever met. He was _exhausting_. He'd smother her with kindness.

Secondly it was bad enough that _he'd_ seen her naked, he wasn't about to extend the invitation to the perv show to Jesse Fucking Boot. Boot might share Rose's weird Healer openness about how bodies were just bodies and that there was nothing to be embarrassed about… but Scorpius sure as hell didn't.

It was blatant that the saner choice was him after all.

He'd unceremoniously kicked Jesse Boot and his good intentions out.

He'd picked up a pair of fresh pajamas, gathered all the books he'd gotten at Christmas.

He'd locked himself up in her soundproof room (thank you Al), coming out for air every once in a while to see if she'd finally stopped shrieking.

And then he'd waited it the hell out.


	16. Played Like a Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year and we're back with another chapter! As usual the beta was courtesy of incredibly talented TheChirpyWitch. Considering how long this last one turned out, it's a wonder she still puts up with me (ily)!
> 
> The people over at fanfiction.net already know this about me, but comments are love and I thrive on external validation! Reviews, kudos and bookmarks is how I know if you guys are liking this, what you'd like to see and any questions you have!
> 
> Chapter 16 is a transition chapter into Act 2 and it was particularly difficult to get out, which is probably why it's so long. From the looks of it, it'll be a while until WS ends and, while I can't exactly predict when or how it'll end (I really don't know myself), I can at least promise that there will be no bullshitty complications thrown in just to make it last.
> 
> I apologise to everyone who found this because it was marked completed, I still haven't gotten the hang of Ao3, because I'm a complete ninny.

**January 3rd, 2028**

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a pain in the arse?"

"Has anyone ever told _you_ that you're the worst invalid?"

"I'm the lowest maintenance patient _ever_," she yelled indignantly, her voice cracking. "_You're_ the one who won't stop bothering me!"

The pair of them locked eyes and glared at each other.

It was the new state of affairs in the household: a lot of pointless yelling and arguing over things like food, medicine or sleep. Rose Weasley's running theory was that she wasn't in fact human and that _of_ _course_ she could survive without them.

Scorp now realized why she disliked people fussing over her: she was a big bloody baby and possibly the worst, most difficult sick person in the entire _world_. The most pragmatic person couldn't _help_ but fuss over her because she kept (purposefully) forgetting to take her bloody medicine and to drink her damned tea if one wasn't constantly reminding her about it.

At some point Scorp had given up the reminders. It was _pointless_ to remind someone who didn't want to be reminded and who would downright ignore said reminders.

"I swear to Morgana," he barked, "if you don't swallow this damned potion I'll shove it down your throat!"

"I am bloody _fine_!"

She was nuttier than a fruitcake. A cranky, foul-tempered fruitcake.

If the ever-growing pile of tissues next to her and the fact that her own room _still_ wouldn't let her go in were any indication, then no, she was the exact opposite of fine.

Scorp sat down next to her on the makeshift couch-bed that was _still_ adorning their living room.

He uncorked the vial with his thumb and put on his meanest face. "We're either doing this the easy way," he threatened, handing her the yellow potion, "or the hard way. Which one is it?"

She eyed him with that same petulant, childish look she'd been giving him since he'd suggested she should maybe eat something and, for a few seconds, he was rather concerned he would actually have to force it down her throat.

He wasn't entirely sure he could achieve that without getting his face scratched in the process.

Relief washed over him as she took the vial from his hand.

Small victories. It was all about small victories.

"There." She downed its contents and handed him the empty vial, scowling. "Happy?"

"Exceptionally." He got up to his feet without even looking at her - he wanted to smack her so hard. "See you again in three hours."

She had been far less trouble back when she'd been screaming.

* * *

"Al, you need to come home," Scorp moaned into the MagiTech. "She hasn't the slightest sense of self-preservation. She won't sleep, she won't eat, she won't even-"

How she had even survived thus far would always remain a mystery to him.

"Driving you batty, is she?" Al interrupted him mid-sentence. He sounded amused, the wanker. "I _did_ tell you to come over to Yard's."

"Who the hell would look after her if I did?"

It wasn't like Al was around to do it, the spineless tosser. He was more of a hands-off kind of friend. He was really great at some things, like making sure your shower faucet wasn't leaking and listening to endless complaints about irresponsible nutcases.

However, when it was actually required of him to step up and make sure said irresponsible nutcases lived to see their twenty-second birthday, he was the flakiest, least reliable son of a witch.

"My, my, Scorp, is that _concern _I hear? I seem to recall a time when you wouldn't give a flying fuck about whether my dearest cousin lived or died."

That had been _before_ she'd become his bloody _friend_.

Unlike Al, _he_ wasn't hands-off. _He_ couldn't just bail on her, no matter how much of a cow she was being. He was invested now.

Merlin, he really knew how to pick them, didn't he?

"Fuck off," he groaned, examining the box of crackers he was holding. "What the hell do I do?"

Maybe if he charmed them into animal shapes she could be tricked into eating them? It seemed to work for small children. Judging by the tantrums she'd been throwing, she qualified as a bloody baby.

"You have two options here," Al started, a smile in his voice, "you can either keep shoveling food into her and hope she doesn't bite your hand in the process _or_... you can do what I do and ignore the fact that she's working herself to a slow but certain death."

"How the hell _can_ you?"

"It's her life, mate." Scorp could practically _hear_ Al shrugging from the other end of the line. "She's entitled to live it any stupid way she wants."

Yes, that was all good and well for Al who had known her since they'd both been in diapers. He was also safely tucked away at Yardley's place, no doubt doing body shots off scantily dressed blondes. If she died however, Scorp would be the one the entire Weasley-Potter-Granger-Delacour clan would go after, brandishing freshly sharpened machetes.

"Can't _you_ say anything?"

"What's there to say? She doesn't actually _listen_. I don't think she knows better, it's just the way she's wired." The other end of the line went silent for a couple of seconds. "She's doing the best she can, mate."

"Al, she keeps forgetting to _eat_. Who the hell _forgets_ to _eat_?!"

"_She_ does. She also forgets to sleep, exercise, take her vitamins and anything that's good for her." Al chuckled, in a 'Oh, Rose' sort of way. "But I can bet you she didn't forget to pay our bill this month."

Scorp knew for a fact she hadn't. Amidst scourgifying after him and changing his pajamas, she'd somehow found the time to owl every single one of their service providers with an enclosed Gringotts order.

"What is _wrong_ with her?"

"She once told me cardio and healthy diets were for other people, not Healers," Al mused. "Do what I say, not what I do kind of thing."

Which was why she reminded _him_ of his potions but couldn't be bothered to take hers.

"But that's, that's..." Scorp stuttered, "_absurd_! I just-"

"Mate, you have five more days of forced leave. Maybe you should stop obsessing about my cousin's self-destructive habits and focus on the fact that you didn't tell your dad about Puddlemere."

There was of course _that_.

He'd been pushing the subject far, far into the deepest recesses of his mind, close to That One Time He'd Missed A Crucial Bat And They'd Lost The Game and under the dusty pile of Embarrassing Teenage Moments He'd _Really_ Rather Forget.

Whenever he thought about going back to work he became downright _queasy_.

"I'm not going to tell him, Al."

"I know, you wanker." There was a small silence on the other side of the line. "I talked to Rose earlier. You know what _she_ whined about?"

"Me?"

"Nope. Didn't even mention you."

"Oh." That was surprising and also a tad disappointing for some reason. "_Really_?"

"Yes. She talked about St. Mungo's and how stressed she is about some upcoming exam or whatever." Al paused for a few seconds, as if waiting for some sort of brilliant conclusion. "She _misses_ it. She _wants_ to go back to her boring paperwork and her sniffling patients."

"Your point being...?"

"_You_ on the other hand haven't _once_ mentioned your job, which leads me to think that _maybe_, just _maybe_ you don't want to go back…?"

Scorp coughed uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Maybe I don't."

"Which means you _know_ you need to quit and you're bloody pushing it off, you chicken-shit."

"What are you now, clairvoyant?" Scorp stuttered, words failing him. Every once in a while Al was inconveniently insightful. "I don't-"

"You know I'm right, Scorp. Get on with it."

Scorp supposed at some point he would have to. How did one 'get on' with quitting one's dream job without feeling like a complete lunatic?

* * *

Al laid down the MagiTech on the counter of Yardley's kitchen and looked around him. The usually spotless kitchen was covered in empty bottles and sparkly, still faintly singing confetti. They'd really gone all out this time, hadn't they?

"What time is it?" Yardley walked into the kitchen in his boxer shorts, rubbing a hand through his dishevelled hair. He looked like shit. "Was that them?"

"Yeah," Al replied, smiling a little at the wretched looking apparition. "It seems Rose is making Scorp's life miserable."

"Predictable. You did tell him to come over, didn't you?"

"I did."

Considering the overall state of the place, maybe it was best that he didn't. Scorp would blow a gasket if he saw this. He'd just start frantically cleaning everything and make _them_ clean as well.

Al wasn't sure his hangover would mix well with cleaning charms. He might really die from it.

"So he's staying?" Yardley opened the fridge and removed the milk carton. He glared at the expiry date and placed it back. "Doesn't want to abandon her, does he?"

Dependable wanker, Scorp was. Wouldn't lift a finger to help a stranger, but would walk barefoot on burning coals for a friend. Funny to think he'd ever consider Rose to be part of that select group.

"Yep." Al smacked his lips, his eyes wandering blindly over the pile of rubbish that had spontaneously grown on the corner of the kitchen since the previous night. "This place is a mess."

"It is," Yardley solemnly agreed, carelessly starting to float a few of the bottles toward the corner. "We should go out for breakfast."

Translation: there weren't any clean plates and Yardley couldn't be arsed to wash them.

"Sure thing."

"We'll clean later."

Translation: Horace would clean later.

"You still haven't told them, have you?" Yardley casually stretched his arms over his head, in an obvious attempt to mask his concern for Al's well-being.

Translation: was Al going to cry and, if so, could he do it over at his own place?

He wasn't an idiot, he knew Yards had been jumping through hoops for the past few days to keep him busy. _Hence_ the endless stream of partying, _hence_ the fact that they'd been having breakfast and lunch in a different city every day since Christmas, _hence_ the hangovers they'd been stockpiling for the past week.

He wasn't sure how much more of Yardley's concern his liver could take.

The envelope still felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket. He really _should_ toss it, but whenever he tried he found that he _couldn't_.

"No."

"Are you going to?"

Al pondered the question for a few seconds. "No."

"Okay."

Good friend, Yards. Didn't feel the need to _talk_ about it like Rose and Scorp would have. Which was why he was choosing to stick around. It wasn't specifically that he didn't want to put up with a sick Rose - though it was a little because of that too, she was rather impossible when she was ill - but more than that, he didn't want to be around them with that stupid card in his pocket.

Because then he'd _tell_ them about the card, and he _really_ wasn't up for that.

Not yet.

* * *

That stupid Christmas card was still bothering him, that much Yardley could tell. Nevertheless, it was hard to tell the difference between heartbreak and a hangover and he'd been working very, _very_ hard to make sure Al was either three sheets to the wind or actively recovering from being three sheets to the wind.

Hopefully Al's internal organs were melting by now and he couldn't think of _anything_ but that.

Yardley racked his mind trying to come up with yet another activity to keep Al busy - maybe they could go to Budapest, that was always a classic. Were the birds in Budapest blondes or brunettes? He couldn't recall.

Maybe to be on the safe side they should go somewhere less _white_. Somewhere where no one had stupid bouncy blonde curls or wore bloody purple pashminas.

Madagascar was supposed to be lovely this time of year.

"How does Madagascar sound for breakfast?"

"Yards, it's almost five p.m. It's bound to be later in Madagascar."

"Brunch, then," he replied airily, tossing a discarded tissue paper in Al's general direction. "Feel good enough to Floo to the Intersection?"

The Intersection was a bothersome piece of magic they'd installed in London somewhere in the past two years. It was supposed to regulate the international floo network but it was simply a tiresome hellhole because now you had to go over and show papers and whatnot, and Portkey your way out, rather than spontaneously flooing to places like before.

It was all rather aggravating. In Yardley's opinion, a few two-bit Death Eaters were hardly worth all this fuss.

Still, it had done wonders for his Portkey stocks.

"I'm alright... I _think_. I may puke when portkeying, though."

For once Yardley felt like he might have enjoyed a quiet day in, nursing his headache and trying to forget the fact that his stomach seemed to be sewn inside out. However, _noblesse oblige_, and he wasn't going to have Al moping around the way he had been before they'd started this rollercoaster of insane boozing and trashy one night stands.

He wondered if he should accidentally set Al on fire and _burn_ that stupid card.

Fucking witch with a capital B, being the bigger person, waving the white flag and whatnot. Proving to herself and everyone that all was well, that there was no resentment on her side, that she was a bloody emotionally balanced person who could compartmentalize and send bloody Christmas cards to her still healing ex-boyfriend, not a care in the world.

Wishing him a "Merry Christmas" and "Happy New Year" when she should keep hiding in whatever pit of hell she'd crawled out of.

How _dare_ she? Thank Merlin those two were still unaware or they'd hunt her down and fuck her up.

Yardley sure as hell wanted to.

* * *

"You're obsessive," Scorp pointed out as he lugged another pile of books closer to the couch, lowering it to the ground within Rose's reach. "You should be recovering, not working."

"That pile needs to be on the left," Rose instructed, cramming the last animal shaped cracker into her mouth. They'd been so cute and she'd managed to trade her books for it, which was good. Maybe she could finally study now. "That's too far away."

"Swallow before you talk, you heathen," Scorp scolded as he floated the stack of books to the spot on the mattress she was pointing at. "Can't this wait until you're not all-" He looked over at her, his nose crinkling with disgust. "- gross?"

"For the millionth time, I'm feeling _fi_\- Achoo!"

It would have been far more convincing if she hadn't sneezed in that precise moment, wouldn't it? Stupid body, betraying her like this.

"Yes, I can tell."

And another sneeze and another and another. Goddamnit.

He ungallantly tossed a box of tissues at her, amusement plain on his face. She took a few and blew her nose. Except, of course, that the blowing scratched her throat, which spiralled into a coughing fit and-

Merlin, she really couldn't catch a break these days, could she?

"Look at how _fine_ you are."

"You _do_ know sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," she grumbled.

Except of course it sounded like 'sarcasb'.

"_You're_ the lowest form of wit."

Rose cleared her throat, wincing at the mucus that seemed to be camping in her entire respiratory system nowadays. Stupid Shivers.

How was it fair that he'd been back on his feet almost immediately and she was _still_ nursing a cold?

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Rose glared at him, taking another tissue and blowing her nose again. "Very mature."

"Yes, because _you're_ maturity personified." Scorp took a seat next to her and gently placed a hand on her forehead. Rose could feel herself colouring and scowled back. "You feel a little hot. Did you take your potion? The green one?"

Stockholm Syndrome, that was all this was. She was simply going a little batty from all the soft pillows and lack of mental stimulus.

"Damnit, Scorp, I _did_!" She hadn't. At least she didn't remember taking it, but she wasn't about to tell him that, was she? "Just-" She scooted further away from him, her fingers firmly grabbing his hand and pulling it away from the general vicinity of her face. Not that holding his hand helped, really. "Can't you just leave me alone?"

She would kill for a cigarette. She'd managed to sneak one in the bathroom earlier and he'd practically chewed her head off, the man was like a pig sniffing for truffles. The worst part was that after a week of not smoking, it had tasted like dirt and hardly been worth all the trouble.

Still, whenever Scorp looked at her she felt a rather compelling need to pump her lungs full of smoke.

She really _needed_ to go back to work. Leaving her brain idle apparently lead to her _noticing_ Scorp, and she was having none of that. Boredom Crushes were a serious deal and she wasn't about to start fantasizing about her flatmate just because she didn't have anything better to think about.

She reached out to grab one of her books - Magical Ailments of All Shapes and Sizes - and held it against her chest like a shield, ready to whack away any intruding hands.

"It's just the _one_ day," he scolded, getting up to his feet. "You could read something _not_ Healing related, slow down a little, focus on getting better. You might even _enjoy_ it."

The problem with slowing down was that it was hard to _stop_, as could be attested to by the fact that not two weeks ago she'd blown off work to spend a night sitting on her uncomfortable kitchen counter, eating cookies and sipping tea with bloody Scorpius Malfoy.

She'd had to practically crawl her way back the next day and it had been _hell_.

"Don't want to," she said, solemnly opening the book and looking at the pages without actually reading them. "Now shoo, I have to study and I just lost a whole week."

Dangerous Bites was looming in the horizon and Healer Horton was what they in the Healing community called a 'bloody wanker'. Like most Healers, he didn't have a single teaching bone in his body and he always made it clear in class that he'd rather be _anywhere_ else, doing _anything_ else.

He liked to ask questions that hadn't necessarily been covered in class or rounds just because he _could_.

Sadistic asswipe.

"What's the worst thing that could happen if you don't study?" He wasn't moving, apparently unaffected by her shooing. "I have Tales of Lost Time in my room, you know?"

Shit, shit, shit.

"Mum gave it to me for Christmas and I already tore through it."

_Shit._

"It's _really_ good. Come on, darling, you practically campaigned for Tales back in Sixth Year." He wasn't lying, she had. "You're the reason Al got into that hogwash, and consequently why _I_ got into that hogwash."

Begone evil fiend, thou shalt not tempt me.

"Goddamnit, Malfoy, leave me alone." The very words were painful. "I have better things to do."

No she didn't, of course she didn't. Dangerous Bites was her weakest and least favourite subject of the lot and Tales… Tales was love, Tales was life.

The second and third volumes of the series had come out in the past three years and she'd bought them both the very day they'd hit the shelves, back when she had still been delusional enough to think she actually would read them.

They had lain on her bedside table, fresh and untouched until she'd hid them away because she couldn't bear the guilt anymore. Every time she had looked at them it was a fresh reminder of just how much she had changed that she couldn't find the time or mental capacity to read a single, damned book.

And now there was a fourth.

"You'll like it. It really ties all the loose ends together, it's rather nice."

A 'rather nice' fourth book that 'tied all the loose ends together'.

Her fingers twitched and she clasped Magical Ailments of All Shapes and Sizes tighter, as if it were some sort of protective talisman against temptation.

It wasn't working, though.

She _wanted_ it. She yearned to spirit the book away right here and now and just hide under her covers devouring it and all its predecessors.

Unfortunately, she couldn't.

"Can't. Have no time."

She could feel her heart breaking at the carelessness of her tone. As if it didn't matter and she didn't care.

It _mattered_. She _cared_.

"Suit yourself," Scorp got up to his feet, shrugging. "Still, you're missing out. It's very good in that sort of overdone way Clarke does so well."

"Overdone?!" The word tumbled out before she could stop it, a testament to the indignation she was feeling. How _dare_ he?! "_Overdone_?!"

"Yeah, you know how he enjoys going on endless tangents-"

"But that's the beauty of it! He always..."

And there it was again, the amused, smug look. He was baiting her, the bastard. Knowing full well what he was doing and she was falling for it, hook, line and sinker.

"Oh, come on, he _writes_ well, but the info dumps about the setting get old after a while." There he was again, taunting her. Pushing her. "I mean, in the second book-"

"_No_, don't tell me!" The _horror_. "I haven't read any since Lost Soul so-"

"You _haven't_?!" Now he was also looking at her as if she'd grown a second head. "You pestered every single person you knew into reading it!"

"Yeah, but that was _then_!" Then, when she'd had the time, when reading had been like breathing. "Now I can't just-"

"You can't just _what_?" He was looking at her, eyebrows knit together and a shadow of a smile. "Don't tell me, St. Mungo's has a strict no reading policy whereby you must all be illiterate and-"

"I don't have the _time_!"

Why didn't anyone get it?!

She could feel the anger welling up in her chest, the angry-embarrassed flush creeping up her face.

"Sure, you do," he replied quietly, a grin tugging at his lips. "Right _now_ you do."

"You don't-"

"I don't _what_?" Still with that annoying grin. That grin that had no right to be as charming as it was. "You have a few days until you go back. What's the harm?"

There was something desperate clawing at her chest, something like _want_. She stomped it down and smothered it.

"Just because I'm trapped here, the world doesn't stop spinning!" It was like they were speaking different languages again and she wanted to yell at him. "How can you _not_ understand this?"

"Explain it to me, then. Because you usually just say you don't have _time_, and that's absurd. It's not like you _sleep_ anyway." He started floating another pile of Healing books over to her, unaware of the fact that she was very close to throttling one at his head. "What could be so important that you can't take three hours to do something you actually _like_?"

"It's called an _exam_?" She wanted to hurt him now. He was trying to _solve_ her in that odious way Al said he did. Poking at her life like it was some fun puzzle he was entitled to screwing around with. "I know _you _haven't had to pick up a book since we left Hogwarts so spare me the judgemental bullshit."

"Ah, yes, as a meatheaded, ignorant Quidditch Player I can't possibly understand the trials and tribulations you go through on a daily basis." Scowling, he let the books he was floating fall onto the mattress with unnecessary strength, causing the dust on them to rise in an angry cloud. "I am _so_ sorry, Miss Weasley, for _presuming_-"

"Oh, come on!" Rose lowered the Magical Ailments to her lap. He sounded angrier than he should. "You know that's not what I'm saying."

"Then what _are_ you saying?" He floated the pile of books he'd dumped and passive-aggressively started stacking them straight. "Mind you, use simple words, because otherwise I might not understand."

"_Obviously_ I don't consider you stupid," she spat, scowling at him. "Do you really think I'd bother arguing with you if I did? It's just..." She hesitated. "It's just…"

"What?" He placed the last book and quirked his eyebrows at her, lips set in a thin line. "What is it?"

What was she supposed to tell him?

That everyone around her already had a topic for their Fifth Year Research and here she was, twiddling her thumbs and pretending she had it all under control? That even when she _was_ resting, her brain was going into overdrive feeling guilty and thinking about all the things she _should_ be doing instead?

Fuck that.

"What's the worst that could happen if you don't study today?" His tone softened. He picked up his cup of tea and took a sip from it. Whatever had set him off was gone now and he was grinning at her again. "It's just an exam."

_Just_ an exam?

Rose stared blankly at him for a few seconds, eyes wide with shock: she really, _really_ needed a cigarette.

Maybe she could tell him she wanted some pudding or whatever bullshit would get him out of the house and she could sneak a cigarette in the kitchen. If she smoked with half her body out of the window he'd never know, would he?

She'd been refusing every offer of food thus far, so she doubted he'd believe she had a sudden craving for pumpkin pasties from some very specific shop on the other side of Wizarding London.

"I can't believe..." She finally stuttered. "It's not an _exam_. It's my _life_!"

"It's a _test_. It's not even your _final _test, we're in January, for Merlin's sake!"

He didn't get it. What was worse, he _couldn't_ get it.

Some people, like Al, Scorp and Pen had been _born_ with dreams. They'd accidentally stumbled upon whatever their one true passion was from a tender age and chased it with the frantic enthusiasm of a toddler on a sugar rush. They'd nurtured it, by dissecting frogs on the kitchen counter or batting toy Bludgers at their mum's expensive vases or experimenting with new spells on their unfortunate cousins. They didn't doubt for a second that it was what they were made for, their calling crushing any uncertainty that might have arisen.

Rose's so-called vocation had manifested by way of Hogwarts' career counselling and a series of frankly dicey tests with creative and not-at-all loaded questions such as 'would you rather clean owl droppings or brew a naertag potion?'.

In the end Healer was the verdict. There were plenty of doubts, misgivings and often disappointment. There was also an ever-pressing feeling of inadequacy and crippling fear of failure.

Which was why tests mattered. It was why grades mattered. They were objective proof that she was doing _something_ right, that she hadn't in fact fucked up.

Which was something Scorpius Malfoy would never understand.

"Scorp, I'm just going to say this once." If she had to repeat it she might punch him in the face. "If you're going to be my friend you're going to have to accept the fact that my grades matter to me. I _care_ about whether I have an Outstanding or not and I swear, if you have a problem with that, I-"

"Look, there's nothing wrong with _that_," he protested, raising his hands defensively. "It's the whole studying until you drop that I have an issue with!"

"You have your drills and batting practice and whatever else you Quidditch Players do," she pointed out. "I have this."

"It's not the same. I do my drills and then I come home and do whatever the hell I _want_. That's the nature of a job," he mansplained, rather obnoxiously, "you have to find a way to keep it separate from your personal-"

"I _have_ to?" She glared at him. "_I_ have to do _nothing_! Malfoy, I swear to Morgana, if you don't butt out of my life-"

"Malfoy?"

That was what he'd extracted from this conversation?

"You're being rather insufferable right now," she replied petulantly. "I think I'm allowed."

"I get that it's your life and that you've put a lot into it but come on, Rose, this can't be _all_ you want for yourself!"

She didn't want anything for herself, not anymore. There was little in the way of long term goals in her life. She could hardly see her future beyond the Dangerous Bites exam.

"Oh, really? It can't?" Explaining one's lack of ambition to a Slytherin was as pointless as attempting to explain the concept of abstinence to Penny Nicholson - all you gained for your troubles were befuddled stares and a series of 'but whys'. It wasn't something they were wired to understand. "Merlin, I'd never considered that before, but now that you've shed light on the matter, like a beacon of hope-"

"Come on, Rose, you know that's not what I mean." He crouched down next to her, lips pursed with concern. He looked so earnest, it was painful. "I'm just saying this is nutty. I haven't seen you read anything other than Healing books since we moved! You used to always have your nose stuck in a book!"

"Yeah, it's shite," she agreed in what she hoped was a soothing tone. "It's supposed to get better, though. Next year there's less classes and tests and just… more research. But until then I can't just-"

"Yes, you _can_," he interrupted, shaking his head. "You _can_ give yourself a darned break every once in a while." Scorp got back up to his feet. "Look, I _get_ it, or at least I'm _trying_ to... it just... bothers me."

"_Why_?"

"Honestly?" He visibly hesitated, brushing his fingers through his blond hair. "I just worry. Aren't I allowed to worry?"

"I've been doing this for _three_ years," she protested faintly. "It's not like it's something _new _or anything."

"It's not," he agreed, his tone soft and his expression guarded. "But that still doesn't mean it's _right_."

"Scorp, we've been friends for all of two minutes." Rose shuffled up to her feet, pulling a blanket behind her. "You can't expect to waltz in and start _fixing_ my life!"

"Why not?" He was still giving her that inscrutable look. "Why can't I _help_?"

"Because there's nothing here _to_ fix." She wanted to close the distance between them, make the obvious discomfort that was growing between them go away. "I know you have a nasty habit of scratching at people's problems until they bleed but I'm fi-"

"Yes, you're _fine_, I heard you the first ten million times." He set his jaw, raising his hands in defeat and took a step back. "Don't worry, I'm sure I'll eventually grow out of this pesky concern thing of mine."

She'd hurt his feelings. Oh, bloody hell.

"Scorp, just-"

"No, no, it's fine." He shook his head and stalked over to the fireplace. He stuffed his wand into his pocket and grabbed himself a handful of Floo Powder. "I'm getting out of your hair, grab myself some fresh air." He wasn't even looking at her. "You need anything?"

"No, I'm good." Quick say something, _anything_ else to make it right! "Look-"

"I'll be back in time for that greenish potion of yours, so don't think you're off the hook." He finally looked back at her, scowling at her over his shoulder and her stomach lurched. "Be good. Remember to drink fluids, okay?"

She nodded mutely and he was gone in a green flash before she could get another word in.

She allowed herself to sink back down to the mattress and stare blankly at the fireplace, half waiting for him to come back. When a minute passed she realized that no, of course he wasn't coming back. That was her, not him.

How long _could_ Scorp stay mad at her? She'd never had to worry about that before so she wasn't quite sure. Would he still be mad when he came back? What was the best way to deal with him?

Al would know, but she'd already called him twice today and he'd _clearly_ been hungover so she didn't want to push it. Either Yardley had completely lost control of his New Year's celebration or Al wasn't as okay as he claimed to be.

The whole thing stunk of Zara all over.

Rose got to her feet, grabbed a nearby blanket and wrapped it around herself. She picked up the pack of cigarettes she'd hidden under the mattress and grabbed her wand, walking purposefully to the kitchen.

"Give myself a break, geez," she grumbled. "Thank you, Scorp, it never occurred to me that it might be so simple."

What was he thinking? That she was made of free passes? That she could just carve out three hours for herself every day? She hardly washed her hair nowadays because of how long it took, she wasn't about to-

She stopped in the middle of the corridor, and looked over her shoulder in the general direction of Scorp's room. Tales of Lost Time. Tying all the loose ends.

How was that even fair?

She shook herself straight and crossed the distance between herself and her cigarette with swift strides. She perched herself on top of the counter, and cracked a window wide open. The winter cold bit her face and she scowled as she pulled a single cigarette and placed it between her lips.

"Doesn't mean it's _rightI_," she mimicked out loud. "Urgh, dopey asswipe."

She wordlessly lit the cigarette with her wand and took a drag, her hands shaking because of the cold. Grabbing the blanket closer to her, she gazed blankly at the hustle and bustle down on the streets.

Maybe she could-

No, of course she couldn't, that would be ridiculous.

It would be opening a precedent and she simply _couldn't_, not with Dangerous Bites so close.

Not to mention if she cracked, Scorp would think he could always pester her into 'taking a break' and that it would work and she didn't have the energy to endure this kind of frankly unethical dialectic every day.

Bribing her with Tales, how dare he?

Then there was of course Magical Bugs coming soon and, no matter how Choi didn't hate her, she definitely _didn't _want to disappoint him, especially after how nice he'd been with the whole Shivers business.

If only that asshole Ogden stopped giving her extra shifts and dropping random paperwork on her lap she might- she could-

Who was she kidding, of course he wouldn't just _stop_. And she couldn't say _no_ to him, she was physically incapable of it. He was her senior and she couldn't exactly go about telling him to fuck off, could she?

_Maybe_ if her mum was dying she could muster the courage, but certainly _not_ because she wanted an extra nine hours to read Tales.

Rose glared at the cigarette she'd been smoking. It wasn't helping her out one bit now that Scorp had left and it still tasted like soot. Maybe it was because she was sick?

Maybe it was the fact that her heart felt crushed. He'd looked so _hurt_. Why had she said that? He was just being her friend, the best way he knew how. In his case that way was pesky and a little misguided but he _had_ been trying. And she'd-

A snowy owl landed on the window sill and shuffled its feathers, shaking off a few wet snowflakes. It eyed her expectantly.

"What are you doing here?" Rose reached out to stroke its head, scratching the feathers with her index fingers. "Are you tired?"

When the owl hooted once and stepped away from the letter she'd been holding, Rose nearly lost her balance and fell straight off the window with the shock.

"For me?" The owl practically rolled her eyes at her, tapping a claw on the letter and fluttering onto her leg. "Are you sure?"

Rose gingerly took the letter, tearing the envelope carefully. She didn't get letters every day - at most she got a text or two, but never actual letters. Every once in a while one from St. Mungo's showed up, but this didn't bear St. Mungo's sygill.

She opened the letter and pulled out a card. Heavy stationary, golden squiggles, the works.

_Together with their families, Katherine Towler and Jules Mordeaux cordially invite you to-_

Katherine Towler? As in _Kate_ Towler?

Rose shook her head and took a long drag from her cigarette. A coughing fit seized her and she stumbled down from the counter, tossing the half smoked cigarette into the sink and heaving. Her teary eyes went back to the card and she frowned at the impeccable calligraphy.

Kate Towler was getting married… to someone who wasn't Scorpius Malfoy.

_Weird_.

* * *

"It's going to be _wild_," Al shouted, waving his envelope with giddy joy. "Not at all like that stupid Yaxley's wedding, I thought for sure I was going to die from all the pureblooded _glaring_."

Yardley looked from Al to the identical cards they were holding in their hands, a grin growing on his face. Finally a worthy distraction.

They had been sitting on a rather fetching veranda in Lima, Peru - Al had been right, it was practically dinnertime in Madagascar - overlooking the Pacific Ocean, the sun shimmering on the sea. So far, instead of appreciating the view and scarfing down his brunch as he should, Al was looking a bit green around the gills.

That card had been like a balm, turning the tide around and making him more himself than Yardley had seen him for over a week, since that _other_ stupid card had arrived.

Funny to think of the power of a few lines of text.

"Katie Towler getting married," Yardley mused, taking a swig from the margarita glass he was holding. "Who's the feller?"

"No idea," Al said, placing the card down on the table and shovelling a handful of bacon into his mouth. _Finally_. "Scorp didn't mention she was seeing anyone and you know he _would_."

Ah, yes, Scorp's personal gripe with anyone Kate dated was rather entertaining at dinner parties. The boy got really vicious about her suitors, it was hilarious.

"She _always_ had an appalling taste in men, though," he laughed, pouring Al a glass. "Exhibit A, Scorp himself."

"You're part of that list, Yards, my boy," Al pointed out, chuckling.

"Not true," Yardley protested, though he did feel a little smug. "We only went out to Hogsmeade a few times, it hardly counts."

He wanted to point out that Al was _also_ a part of the roster, but that would imply diving further into the matter and that meant slamming head-first into a wall of Zara.

He wasn't about to go _anywhere_ near that topic.

"Yes, and the moment Scorp so much as smiled at her she discarded you like yesterday's trash and went right back to him," Al pointed out.

Yardley scowled. "She discarded _everyone_ to go right back to Scorp." Yardley twirled a fork between his fingers with a thoughtful look. "Those two were batty about each other."

They'd been batty alright, breaking up and making up every other day. He'd never really quite understood why they'd broken up for good, especially considering the fact that they still got on like a house on fire. Best chums, even.

"Who the hell is this Jules anyway?" Al asked, scowling at the card. "I don't remember any Jules Mordeaux in Hogwarts."

"Sounds french. Beauxbatons?"

"Maybe…? I'll have to ask Louis about it, he'll know. And if he doesn't, Dominique will for sure."

They had bigger concerns than who Jules was, but he was glad Al wasn't making the connection. After all, Kate had been good friends with Al's bitch of an ex.

Kate _knew_ right?

If she was inviting Al that meant she couldn't possibly invite _her_, could she?

She couldn't. She _wouldn't_.

_Right_?

* * *

"Rose?"

Oh dear Merlin, what now?

"In the kitchen!" she yelled, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and haphazardly flinging it into the nearest cupboard, banging the door shut. She had just finished scourgifying the three cigs she'd thrown in the sink - judge her all you want, she was nervous and she hadn't smoked in _days_ \- when in walked Lily Potter in all her frenzied glory.

A single natty orange homemade cloth bag hung from the redhead's shoulder. She was wearing a fluorescent yellow jacket, which she was currently trying to disentangle herself from. Under it was a not-much-better purple shirt, which clashed oddly with the green on her pants. Lily had a tendency of either looking like she'd gotten dressed in the dark with clothes she'd fished out of a garbage dump or like she'd spent five hours pondering about her fashion choices, according to how much mental energy she expended on it in the morning.

Today, apparently, it was the former.

"Oh, you're up!" Hobo Lily gave her an appreciative once over. "You look thinner. Are you on a diet?"

Merlin save her from the walking disaster that was Lily Potter and her absolute lack of tact.

"I was _sick_, love," Rose replied, trying to curb the smile that was threatening to grow on her lips. "You know, Shivers?"

Trust Lily to _not_ know about it. She could see it now, the entire Weasley clan talking about it for an entire five hour Saturday lunch and it going in one of Lily's ears and out the other.

"How lucky for you!" The girl tilted her head and looked at her for a few seconds before she started promptly removing and stacking a series of tupperwares from her bag - which apparently was not only natty but also bottomless. "I just wish, I'm a stomach complication away from reaching my goal weight. After Christmas too, so well timed!"

Lily always spoke in a breathless sort of way, managing to cram a thousand words between each inhalation, as if there wasn't really time for them. Unlike Rose she didn't talk fast because she was nervous or anxious, she did it in a fruitless effort to keep up with her accelerated mind. Sometimes, like now, that mind only spewed nonsense. That tended to cause some people who didn't know her to think Lily Potter was a complete and utter ninny.

They were _wrong_.

If only the world could speed up to meet her, she'd end world hunger and cure cancer before she'd even had her morning coffee.

"If you want I can sneeze on you," Rose offered dryly, taking a few cautious steps toward Lily and peering at the boxes. "What are those?"

"Nan told me to bring these over for Al," Lily explained, frowning ever-so-slightly at one of the containers. "Is this zucchini?" She looked over at Rose with a confused look which then brightened into a hopeful grin. "Is Al going vegetarian too?"

"Not that I know of." Rose's eyebrows quirked at her cousin, her lips pursing together as she tried to keep a chuckle inside. "He's not _here_ either."

"He _isn't_?"

"Lils, I swear-" She looked over at the multiple boxes, filled with what she was pretty sure were several vegetarian concoctions up to the brim. She could practically _sniff_ the vitamins from where she was. "Are you sure these are meant for Al?"

Al would rather die before he ate any of these. According to him, if it didn't come with a side of bacon, it wasn't proper food.

"Well yeah, Nan made extra so I was supposed to bring them with me. She also said something about Al, though come to think of it I'm not entirely sure _what_ she said, I wasn't really listening, because I was thinking about work-"

Rose rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead and inhaled. Obviously, her cousin had managed to tune out whatever Grandma Weasley had been saying and pieced out the conversation afterwards, which explained was why Lils was here, carrying a truckload of vegetarian food that was obviously meant for _herself_, not her chronically carnivorous sibling.

"- did I tell you I'm interning at Dervish and Banges? It's rather hellish but the hours are good and they have this rather silly filing problem. I expect to have it all sorted next week-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Rose managed to stutter out before Lily started going into another of her tangents. "Weren't you at Ollivanders?"

She really couldn't keep track of Lily's CV and she was sure all of Wizarding London was as puzzled as she was. Lily had been trying out a series of potential career options since her graduation, none spanning longer than six months. She left in her wake a trail of confused yet extremely uncritical employers who would vouch for her as hard-working, competent, proactive… even if she _was_ a little all over the place.

Somehow, they all spoke of her fondly and she'd _never_ been fired.

"Oh, no, that was last month… or was it last week?" Lily's pretty face contracted into a thoughtful frown. "Yes, two weeks ago, before Christmas. Or was it after...?"

"What _happened_?" Rose was aware her jaw had slackened and closed her mouth shut.

Quitting right before-or-after Christmas was the Lily-est thing. It was scatterbrained and thoughtless and just _thinking_ about it made her want to go find a paper bag and breathe into it.

Lily herself? Lily was _fine_. Any concerns she might have, she seemed to _laugh_ them off her life, never letting silly things like financial stability or what people might think of her get in the way of whatever it was she wanted to do.

"Oh, nothing," she replied dismissively, cracking open one of the rabbit food containers she'd brought over and eyeing it critically. "I sorted out their Cherry Wood suppliers and finally found the thing that wasn't adding up in their books from the first two quarters. I wasn't exactly _needed_ anymore."

She watched as her cousin absent-mindedly walked over to the cupboard she'd stuffed her cigarettes in. If there was something Lily might give her trouble about, it was hiding her cigarettes in a cupboard, like a damned addict.

"Like, Arithmancy was never my strong suit so it took me a while longer than I'd expected but I'd been meaning to quit from day one. They only hired me because of dad anyway."

"So you _quit_?" Rose's breath was caught in her throat and she scrambled, trying to distract her cousin from the pack of cigs staring right at her. "Again?"

"Yep. I was _bored_, you know?" She didn't have to worry apparently. Lily just looked through the cigarette pack and picked a plate, never ceasing her tireless monologue. "Wasn't for me. Anyway, I was saying about Dervish, it's not _just_ the filing that's all wrong, they don't exactly have a _method_ for anything and I-"

She doled out the contents of the container onto the plate and heated them up, never stopping to catch her breath, even as she non-verbally Accio'd a fork from one of their drawers.

"- honestly, I don't know how they survived this long without going under, the place is chaos and the brothers who own the shop are well-meaning idiots-"

Rose was all but ready to kick up a fuss when Lily presented whatever that vegetable medley that was in front of her - out of principle, obviously. After all if she'd refused food from Scorp, she'd be damned if she was taking it from Lily.

However Lily did no such thing.

Instead, she placed the plate smack dab in front of herself, apparently making herself comfortable for a mid afternoon snack.

"- I'm _half_-sure one of the employees is stealing from the cash register. Her name is Jess and Merlin, she _looks_ like a Jess, like, you have _no_ idea-"

A comforting smell wafted toward Rose and she felt her stomach grumble. Between the smell and Lily's familiar chattering, the kitchen now somehow reminded her of The Burrow, of Gobstone games and lemonade in summer… even though it was peak winter and she was now sure what was on the plate was vegetarian lasagna.

Rose wasn't sure how Lily could keep up the stream of conversation with the plate still untouched in front of her. She felt like her stomach might at any moment jump out of her mouth and help itself off Lily's plate if she didn't start eating soon.

It was _criminal_ to leave it there, soggy and forgotten.

"- but I can't prove it, you see, and it's wild because I've been there a week and I don't know how anyone hasn't noticed it before. It's driving me a little loony if I'm honest-" She looked sweetly over at Rose, who was practically drooling all over the counter. "You want some?"

Rose's hands were already reaching out and pulling the plate toward her before Lily had the chance to finish her kind offer - which, considering just how fast Lily talked, was a rather prodigious feat. Lily handed her the unused fork she'd been holding - holding, not using - and rested her chin on her hand with an amused look.

"Good, right?"

It had been only after the first bite that she'd realised she had been actually starving.

"Nan'sh cooking is alwaysh the besht," Rose replied, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She swallowed and sighed. "Almost tastes like the real stuff, too."

"_Right_?" There was a small glint to Lily's eyes. "It's quite lovely. How are you holding up?"

"You know, locked at home with Scor- Malfoy." Rose corrected herself, frowning a bit as she shovelled a forkful into her mouth. Ah, dear cheesy delight. "Not echactly the besht."

"Is he being an arse? I can have a chat with him if you'd like…?"

"Nah." Rose swallowed, rolling her eyes. "He's alright, he's just-"

Worried.

Something inside her ached at the concept and she stuffed her face full of peppers and zucchini and whatever else was hiding in the cheesy sauce in a desperate attempt to distract herself.

"That's good," Lily said, nodding approvingly. "I thought you'd be at each other's throats by now. I mean, I thought it was odd when you didn't spend five hours complaining about him at Christmas but I figured-"

"We're…" _Friends_. Rose choked, and not because of the lasagna. Somehow she couldn't quite bring herself to say the word aloud. "We have declared a cease-fire of sorts."

Why was she _embarrassed_ about it?

"Is Al thrilled? You two playing nice is his dream come true, I'm sure."

"Wouldn't know," she replied truthfully. "He's been away for a while."

"He was going a bit off his rocket a few weeks back when you two were having a wild fight-"

Trust Al to babble to Lily. Probably James too.

"- and anyway I'm glad you two sorted it out because you know how he runs and hides when people fight around him. Neither James or me have an uncontrollable impulse to disapparate whenever anyone so much as breathes at us funny so I really don't know where he got it from… Oh, before I forget-" Lily stopped her ramble and pulled her bag toward her. She stuck her hand on the inside and fumbled for whatever it was she was looking for, her face scrunched up with concentration. "Ah, here it is. Penny gave me these."

"Penny? Are those notes?" Rose instantly recognized Jesse's meticulous, almost girly handwriting on the first page. "Did she say what about?"

"Probably," Lily replied indifferently, sliding the stack of parchment over to her. "I wasn't really listening, like, I sort of tuned out when she started talking Healing gibberish. What I _do_ know is that St. Mungo's needs a better coffee machine. No wonder everyone there looks depressed."

It was a good half hour after Lily left before Rose's dazed brain finally caught up with what had happened and she realised she'd been played like a damned fool.

When a couple of minutes later she walked over to extract her cigarettes from the cupboard she found a single Smokeefree potion laying in its stead.


	17. Scorched Plans and Murphy's Law

**January 10th, 2028**

Beep. 

What the fuck?

Beep.

Scorp groaned under his covers, pulling the sheets over his head. His eyes were still firmly shut, his consciousness desperately grasping at the dream he’d been having. It involved a lot of flying and batting and Bludgers whistling and…

Beep.

What _ was _ that stupid sound? 

Beep.

And why in Merlin’s name was it happening in the middle of the night?

Beep.

Gritting his teeth, Scorp buried himself further and further into his warm cocoon and desperately tried to ignore the beeping, which was only growing louder and sounding more and more like _ honking _ with each passing second. A vice of anxiety and annoyance squeezed at his chest as the ringing persisted, ever louder, ever closer.

Beep. Beep. _ Beep _.

Just when he was about to completely lose it, Scorp heard the door to his bedroom clicking open. There was the sound of rushed steps coming into the room and, after a few moments of pacing and a few colorful expletives, the ringing stopped. 

Sweet Circe, silence. 

_ Finally _.

He felt his bed sinking and cursed under his breath as he felt what was undoubtedly someone sitting on the bed next to his curled body, pressing lightly against his back.

“Scorp…?”

Rose’s voice. Of course it had to be her, why wouldn’t it be? 

This had to be some sort of cruel joke. 

“Go _ away _,” he groaned, turning under the sheets to give her back a half-hearted shove. She didn’t budge. “Can’t this wait ‘til morning?”

“It _ is _ morning,” she quipped from outside his fortress of blankets. She sounded _ amused _. “You’re late.”

The very concept was absurd. He’d never been _ late _ in his entire life. 

Every single day since he was six, Scorp had woken up about five minutes before his alarm went off. He would then shower, get dressed, fix himself a cup of tea, pick up his paper and dive into his crosswords. Granted the crosswords and the tea were a more recent acquisition, but _ still _ , we were talking about a habit that had run his mornings for _ fifteen years _.

Like bloody clockwork.

“I’m not _ late _ ,” he snorted disdainfully, before resuming his listless pushing of what he could only presume was Rose Weasley’s ass. “Now go _ away _.” 

The bed shifted as she got up and Scorp breathed a sigh of relief: she was leaving. Now if he could only fall back asleep, he was guessing he might get one or two more hours--

Without warning, the top of his sheets were pulled down and Scorp found himself glaring into a pair of laughing blue eyes. 

“Unless Puddlemere abides by a different time zone than the rest of England, you’re _ definitely _ late.” 

She was wearing her blue scrubs under the customary white Healer robes. More than that, she was grinning in a way that was both bewitching and more than a little terrifying. 

If there was one thing Rose Weasley was not, it was a morning person. She was not the sort to walk around with a smile on her face when she woke up. Even on a good day, the best you would get from her was an ill-tempered grunt and a great deal of scowling.

Today, however? She looked _ happy _. 

And for some reason, the sight of her grinning face first thing in the morning was doing all sorts of horrible things to him. She was still leaning over him with her grin and her slightly wet curls, smelling of familiar lavender and vanilla and-- 

Him. She smelled of _ him _.

Was that his shampoo? Had she _ pinched _his champoo? The same stuff that cost a billion galleons on the market because it had dragon scales and fernberry root and a series of other unspeakable ingredients designed to make sure his hairline didn’t budge?

“I _ can’t _ be late,” he scoffed, snagging his blankets from her grasp and half-covering his face again, trying to focus on… anything else really. “I’m _ never _ late.”

Unfortunately, hiding under the covers didn’t make the scent go away and he was still terribly aware of the fact that Rose did in fact smell _ like _him.

“New experiences are said to broaden the mind and yours sure could use some broadening,” was the dry retort. “Your alarm was kicking up a storm and driving us mental. I’d never heard it before, it's horrible. Like a goose being choked.”

The reason she hadn’t heard it before was because, every single day, five minutes before the Damned Thing had a chance to ring, Scorp was already up and going about his life. Heck he'd had it for years and this was the first time _ he'd _ heard it. 

“After a while we figured we should check if you were dead.”

“If only,” Scorp replied, groaning and burying his face in his pillow.

“From the looks of you, we weren’t entirely off-base,” came Al’s voice from the door. Scorp shifted slightly to look at his best friend, who was leaning against the doorframe, a steaming cup of tea in hand and a thoroughly amused look on his face. “You look like you’ve been run over by a herd of Thestrals.”

“_ Are _ you alright?” Rose looked over at him and Scorp self-consciously brushed his fingers through his blonde hair in an attempt to smooth it over.

“I’m--”

“He’s dandy,” Al interrupted, sipping his tea with a nonplussed air. “He’s just delaying the inevitable because he’s a wuss.”

“Oh!” Rose looked over at Al and frowned. “Is today the day?”

“Yep.” 

It was Monday. 

_ Shit _, it was Monday! 

Monday was the fateful day he was supposed to walk into his current place of employment and somehow turn it into his former place of employment. The details of exactly _ how _ that was going to happen were still a bit fuzzy in his mind. He had spent most of the night tossing and turning as he tried to justify to himself dumping _ his _ team, the one he'd cherished for all of of his natural life, for the _ Magpies _.

The mere thought of it still made him nauseated. 

A heavy dose of rationality was required for this and Scorp had always had that in spades. The only problem now was smothering and murdering the pesky, sentimental bit of him that was still so firmly attached to the idea of him playing for Puddlemere.

The carefully constructed order in his life was being blown asunder... and he was the maniac casting the Confringo.

Scorp sat up on the bed and brushed a frantic hand through his hair which did nothing to soothe his fraying nerves. 

Oversleeping, Merlin, how did people do it? What was wrong with them? Why would they submit themselves to this nausea willingly? His mouth tasted like sandpaper and he was pretty sure… yep, his back hurt. 

He glared at the pair of idiots chatting amicably on the other side of his room, unaware of the maelstrom of confusion going through him.

“Is that tea?” Rose walked over to Al and threw his cup an envious look. “I’d sell my own mum for a cup.”

“Kitchen. I made one for you and another for Sleeping Beauty over there,” Al replied, wrapping his free arm around her for a brief second and giving her an affectionate squeeze. “Though by the time he gets to it, a newly evolved species may be swimming in it.”

“Have I mentioned you’re my favourite cousin?”

“Considering the competition, it's hardly surprising.”

Rose brushed past Al, cheerfully scurrying off to go fetch the promised cup and Al stood hesitatingly under the door frame for a few seconds before stepping inside and closing the door behind himself.

“I’ve known you for ten years and you’ve never overslept. Not once," he started, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Not even that time we got so narked we spent half the night looking for the flat because we couldn’t remember where we lived.” 

At this point, Scorp had gotten up to his feet and was standing very still, a hand still buried in his hair as he tried to sort himself out. 

What now?

Shower? Was it worth showering? Should he just get dressed?

Al sighed and laid down his cup on a nearby cabinet. He placed a hand on Scorp’s shoulder, gripping it tightly. “You done beating around the proverbial shrubbery?”

The single point of contact had a grounding effect on him and Scorp schooled his features into a small smile. "I still can't believe I'm doing it. I know it's right but it feels so _ stupid _."

“It’ll be _ fine _.” Al’s voice was smooth and steady. “You only need to go in, say you quit and walk out.”

Al said it like it was simple, a three step roadmap.

Unfortunately that was not how life worked, you couldn’t just Floo in, scream ‘I quit’ and then Floo the hell out - well fine, technically you could, but that wasn't how he wanted to deal with this. 

Contacts were everything in the Quidditch World and he desperately needed to keep his close.

Urgh. _ Networking _.

There were going to be questions, possibly some pleading. There were papers to sign, settlements to discuss. Conversations with his coach about what an utterly stupid decision this was, while they both tried to ignore that Scorp’s career was dead in the water. 

The terrifying bit was that, with enough cajoling, he suspected they might be able to talk him out of it. He had let himself become so beggared in terms of approval that if they threw a raise at his head, empty promises and a few kind words, he might just completely crack.

This was what came out of being completely and utterly unprepared. He had come up with very little in the name of arguments other than ‘the pay is better’ and ‘the owner doesn’t hate me’, and he had no intention of using the latter. And he _ still _ didn’t know what to say if people pointed out the fact that the Magpies were stationed in fucking Scotland or, better yet, the fact that they were _ shit _. 

Because it was _ true _.

“What do I _ wear _?” The words stumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. His disrupted routine was like a knife twisting into his insides. “What on earth does one wear to quit one’s job?! Is there a standard?”

“Anything but those stupid pajamas.” Al looked him over and shook his head. “Merlin, you can be such a girl sometimes.”

“What do I _ say _?” 

“Two words: ‘I’ and ‘quit’.” A smile grew on Al’s face. “I’d go with you and hold your hand, but I have a meeting in half an hour.”

“What do I do when--”

“Mate, you need to snap out of it,” Al groaned, letting go of Scorp’s arm and opening his wardrobe. “I know it’s killing you that you don’t have a plan and a fucking color-coded binder detailing every single possible course of action, but sometimes you just need to face things head on and roll with the punches.” 

What a stupidly Gryffindor thing to say.

Al went on opening and closing drawers, pulling a pair of boxer shorts here, some socks there and all in all running through his clothes like a hungry dragon rampaging through a helpless village. 

“What are you _ doing _?”

“Getting you dressed, since apparently you don’t remember how.”Al tossed a shirt at his head and started fumbling at his pants hangers. Scorp swallowed and tried his best to ignore the fact that Al was crumpling everything he touched inside. “On the off chance you locate your balls and _ actually _quit, you can come over to Gringotts.” He threw him a pair of pants, which Scorp managed to intercept before they hit him in the face. “We’ll grab lunch, jump scare some goblins… It’ll be like it never happened.”

Great, so now he had plans for _ after _ he quit, but still no plans for the actual quittance.

“But it _ will _ have happened.” Scorp shook his head. “I’ll be _ unemployed _.”

The very word was terrifying beyond belief.

“Yes, for all of five minutes,” Al sniggered, picking up his cup of tea and sipping it with a grin. “Then you’ll call Gwen and you’ll employed again. Profitably so.”

Shit, Gwen. 

In his dogged attempt at sorting his frazzled mind he hadn’t even returned her calls, putting the matter off until he was sure he would have the gumption to actually quit. The last thing he needed was her frankly Machiavellian rhetoric worming its way into what was possibly the first real problem of his life.

She was going to skin him alive and have his hide turned into a pair of those extremely uncomfortable shoes she wore.

There was a small knock on the door. “Are you decent?”

Scorp rolled his eyes. Surprisingly polite for someone who’d seen him buck naked a week back. 

“Yeah, come in!”

The door opened the slightest bit and Rose tentatively peered in. When it became apparent to her that there were no naked hijinks happening, she swung the door open. 

“I need to rush off.” There was a St. Mungo’s ID hanging from her neck and she was shuffling nervously, obviously itching to go back to her work and suicidal lifestyle. “I just wanted to say good luck. I know it’s shit but...”

She fell silent for a few seconds, chewing her bottom lip and eyeing him as if trying to figure out something. 

“Put us out of our misery and go already, ginger.” Scorp scoffed as he looked her over. "You've talked about nothing else for days and I for one can’t wait until--"

Shit, she was walking over. _ Deliberately _ so.

“-- you’re out of this place...” 

His voice trailed off. Before he knew what was happening, Rose had crossed the distance between them and carefully snaked her arms around his torso. The smile he'd been wearing was wiped clean off his face: she was _ hugging _him.

Holy Quaffle, Rose was hugging him.

His arms hovered over her shoulders for a few seconds and he threw a panicked look at Al, mouthing a silent ‘what the fuck’. The brunette boy, who was watching the exchange with a combination of interest and amusement, merely shrugged as if to say ‘you’re on your own, mate’. 

Scorp took that as a sign that he was in fact allowed, maybe even _ supposed _ to hug her back. 

How exactly was he supposed to do that? 

Gingerly, he allowed himself to wrap his arms around her, praying to every deity that she wouldn’t break or explode or something along those lines. 

Instead, she seemed to relax under his touch and Scorp was finally able to breathe again. A rogue hand tugged ever-so-slightly at the back of his pajama shirt and he grinned, daring to rest his chin on top of her head and closing his eyes. She still smelled like his shampoo and Scorp could feel his heart doing a small Scottish jig at the thought.

It was like she _ belonged _. 

Shit.

“Chin up, Malfoy,” she said, tilting her head to look up at him and giving him a small smile, apparently oblivious to the havoc she was wreaking in his chest. “It's a bright day out and it'll only get better.”

When she said it, Scorp almost believed it.

Just as his mind had finally wrapped itself around the idea that Rose Weasley was in fact _ hugging _ him, she stiffened against him and Scorp’s breath caught in his throat again, worried he’d done something wrong. 

“Fuck, I need to leave,” she cursed under her breath, her gaze affixed to his alarm clock. “Good luck!”

And, like a tornado, she was gone, leaving only wreckage in her wake. Scorp was left gaping at the door she’d just stormed out of.

What the hell had just happened?

“You have the stupidest look on your face right now,” Al pointed out, giving Scorp a pat on his shoulder. “I wish I had a camera to mark the event for posterity, Yards would've loved to see it. So would my dad, your dad, my cousins, my uncles… though we'd have to gloss over the fact that you actually touched her or they'd have your stupid looking face on a spike.”

“What…” Scorp shook his head, still dumbstruck. “What was _ that _?”

“Rose’s personal brand of moral support.” Al said it as if it were something normal. “Congratulations, even my trainwreck of a cousin thinks you’re pathetic.”

“What does that even _ mean?” _

“Exactly what I said. It’s her thing, y’know?” Scorp was sure he _ didn’t _ know. Al sighed. “ _ You _ offer unrequested advice and try to find solutions for people’s problems. She hugs people.”

“_ What _?”

For some reason he felt like he was repeating himself.

“She's _ worried _ about you, you git,” Al enunciated slowly. “It’s something she does.”

“This is something she _ does _,” Scorp repeated drily. “She randomly hugs people and tells them they’ll be alright?!”

“She doesn’t hug _ everyone _,” Al corrected, looking almost offended for his crazy cousin, as if the fact that she was particular about whom she hugged made any difference. “Just people she likes.” 

Correction: it _ made _a difference.

She _ liked _ him. 

They'd spent a week at each other's throats. After Lily had come by - he’d had to call for backup and if there was anyone capable of dealing with Rose, that person was Lily Potter - things had been better. Still, he hadn’t been exactly trying to be _ likeable _, what with threatening her to wring her neck if she didn't take her potions and everything.

And yet... she _ liked _ him. She liked him enough to bestow upon him her weird and surprisingly comforting hugs.

“Stop mooning about my cousin and get dressed, you ponce,” Al scolded, walking over to him with renewed energy and pinching both his cheeks in a way that was both painful and heartwarming. “Merlin, you're slow today. Try not to get lost on your way to the fireplace, for goodness' sake.” 

“You’re a git, you know that?”

“Speaking of gits,” Al said, letting go of his cheeks and chuckling darkly, “Yards has ten galleons riding on you being a flaking arsehole.” 

_ Of course _ he did. 

“Yards is a wanker,” Scorp replied with a small smile.

“_ I _ , on the other hand, am the idiot that bet him you wouldn’t.” Al walked to the door and, just before stepping out, turned back to glower at him. “And I swear, if you chicken out, I’m tracking your pasty arse down and making _ coq au vin _.”

* * *

Despite Al's repeated assurances that everything would be fine, it _ wasn't _fine. 

From the moment he had stepped into the Floo, things had become a bit better on his end. He'd finally slipped out of his small bout of Analysis paralysis and finally faced the music. The sight of his locker, with its nicked corner had smacked him into decisive action and he had firmly, if not even pointedly, quit the job he'd been dreaming of having since he'd been made aware of jobs were.

The rush of his assertiveness was short lived.

Four hours later Scorp was still sitting on a chair as people screamed all around him. 

* * *

They were sitting in a small cafe in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, which was where Gwen had told him to meet her after describing in excruciating detail how she was going to shove one of her incredibly pointy shoes up his rear. 

When he’d gone up to the Intersection and spent half an hour waiting for a portkey, he’d been a bit peeved, thinking life would become incredibly shittier from this point on.

He would have gladly put up with endless commutes and feeling like his stomach was being held in a chokehold twice a day every day for the rest of his life if it had spared him from the alternative, which was apparently... _ not _ having to put up with it at all.

“What do you mean the position has been filled?!”

“It means it took you more than a month to get back to me,” Gwen shrieked back, her face flushed with anger. “I called you a million times over Christmas and you never picked up!”

Scorp was only half-listening. The sense of dread that had just gripped him was infinitely worse than anything he’d felt this morning. He’d been scared, sure, but it paled in comparison to whatever it was that he was feeling now. 

“I don’t…” His lips quivered ever-so-slightly. “Do you mean…?”

His muscles tensed and a wave of cold sweat whipped him across the back, leaving him breathless as it finally hit him: he was _ unemployed _.

That was why she'd insisted they meet. 

Not because she had papers for him to sign so he could start his brilliant career and win a billion Cups, not because she had missed him and wanted to catch up, not because she wanted to tear him a new one for not answering her calls… because he was now _ jobless _.

“It’s all very hush hush, but two days ago Erin Bailey suddenly became available and Brandon Dixon jumped at the opportunity to bat with her,” Gwen spat, hands still shaking from her previous outburst. “You remember _ Brandon _, he was the fucker who batted with you on that friendly match.”

Right now he wouldn’t be able to tell you his own name, much less drum up enough mental capacity to remember Brandon Whatever-The-Hell-His-Name-Was.

The new ten year plan that he'd spent all morning carefully constructing from the cluttered debris of his life was now burning to ashes in front of his very eyes. If he tried hard enough, he was sure he would be able to smell the smoke coming from his scorched dreams.

Scorpius nodded mechanically as he continued to face the anger that was exuding from Gwen’s every pore. 

“He’s a mediocre wanker at best, yes, and I promise you I did _ everything _ in my power to stop them, but two players beats one and the team gelled with them and...” She paused, shaking her head and then snapped again, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Fuck, Scorp, I had them eating off the palm of my hand and then you stop answering your fucking MagiTech and it all goes to fucking shit. I swear to Merlin, if I had known you were going to flake on me--”

He buried his face in his hands and stared blankly at the table, droplets of cold sweat dripping from his brows. 

“-- I have better things to do with my life than calling you a million times because you can’t be arsed to answer a single call and--”

He closed his eyes, tuning Gwen’s voice out. 

_ Unemployed _.

Without warning and like a manticore had stumbled teeth first into him, the first wave of nausea hit. 

_ Unemployed _.

“Scorp?”

It was like he was being smothered, like the room was suddenly a bit too hot and his shirt was a bit too tight and--

Shit.

Now he couldn’t breathe.

Lovely, just lovely.

“Scorp!”

He _ really _ couldn’t breathe.

This was ridiculous, absurd really. One didn’t just stop breathing but holy fuck, he really _ couldn’t _.

Why couldn’t he breathe?!

His hand instinctively searched for his wand and he grasped it tightly, his eyes still firmly shut. He needed to be gone, anywhere but here. 

_ Anywhere _ else would be fine.

“Scorp.” A warm hand grasped his own and gently removed the wand from his grip. “Look at me and breathe.”

Two hands now, cupped around his face. 

“Look. At. Me.”

He tried to smack them away and the hands only gripped tighter, forcing his eyes open to look into hers. 

“Breathe,” she ordered, her voice smooth like melted butter. “Come on, Malfoy, in and out, in… and out… that’s it. In… and out… A few more times.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Scorp could see someone approaching the table and his chest tightened. Gwen’s eyes were fixed on his face and she scowled as she followed his gaze, turning to face the newcomer. 

“No, sir, kindly fuck off, don’t you dare come any closer,” she growled. “In fact if you can all stop gaping like fucking idiots…” 

And then she was back on him, her voice his only tether to sanity. 

“Ignore those tossers, breathe… in… and out...”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later he was glaring at the cup of tea that she’d laid in front of him and feeling like a complete dolt. A few people sitting at other tables were still throwing them curious looks, clearly hoping for an encore, and Scorp kept his gaze firmly affixed to his cup.

“Happens to the best of us, mate.” She said it matter-of-factly and Scorp for one was glad they weren’t making a big deal out of it. “I've lost count of the number of times some green player nearly wet themselves on their first big game.”

“I didn’t _ wet _ myself,” he snapped back. 

“No, you just forgot how to breathe, like the massive boob you are.”

“Are we done here or do you want to continue pointing out what a wuss I am?” 

"I don’t think you’re a wuss,” she replied slowly , twirling the glass of firewhiskey she was holding in her hand. “I get it, I’ve been there myself.”

“Yes, I’m sure you have,” Scorp scowled. “What with the great house, that darling girlfriend of yours and the dream job, I really don’t know how you hold yourself together every day.”

“Merlin, you’re prickly as a porcupine today.”

“An _ unemployed _ porcupine,” Scorp corrected. “I wonder why that is…?

“I’ve been jobless too, y’know?” Gwen scowled back. “I remember how terrifying it is.”

“Ah, but _ you _ quit!”

“So did you. Very daringly, I must say.”

Like the crazy fearless person she was, Gwen had quit with no prospects and no plans. Reckless and wild was fine for people like Gwen, who enjoyed living by the seat of their pants. 

It _ wasn't _ fine for people like him.

“That’s only because I thought there was another job waiting for me!”

“Yes, I know, and I _ am _ sorry.” 

She didn’t add ‘though it’s all your fucking fault you ninny’, which he appreciated, since he still felt a little green around the gills whenever he thought about it. 

“I’ll try to keep that in mind when I’m living out of a cardboard box, I’m sure it’ll be very comforting.”

“It’s not ideal and I know it’s a shitty feeling, not knowing what you're going to do…” Gwen seemed to be struggling for the words. “And honestly, it only gets worse with time.” 

“I sincerely doubt it.”

How much worse could it get really?

“Stop being a self-pitying wanker and hear me out: find _ something _ else to do while I sort this out. _ Anything _ else. If you just stay home scratching your balls, you'll end up feeling all sorts of worthless.”

'Worthless' was a bit of a strong word. He didn’t think he’d ever feel 'worthless', thank you very much. He was a Malfoy and, despite his parents' best efforts, his ego was still uncommonly inflated for his age group. 

“You mean another team?”

If he were being completely honest, any team would do right about now. He’d even join the bloody Chudley Cannons, which was something a player only did if they were keen on committing career suicide.

Not that what he'd done was much better.

“I mean washing _ dishes _ if that's what it takes,” Gwen replied fiercely. “I did for a while and it kept me from going batty.”

Gwen didn’t often talk about what it had been like for her after she’d quit Puddlemere. He knew she’d been adrift for a couple of months before being scooped up by the Magpies, but she didn’t _ talk _ about it. 

Which was odd, because Gwen talked a _ lot _.

“I promise I’ll find you something else, something equally good…” Gwen stopped mid-sentence and and frowned for a second before a slow grin curled up her mouth. “In fact, you know what? I’ll find you something _ better _.”

“Nepotism at its finest.” Scorp picked up his cup of tea and toasted her. “Did you have anything in mind?”

It was rather obvious that she did. Her grin had sharpened into something ferocious, the war face she put on whenever she came in close contact with a broom. There was something a little insane about her eyes.

“I do, it’s just… _ complicated _.” She hesitated before practically purring the word. “I’ll have to figure a few things out first. Pull some strings, kiss a few wrinkly arses, move one or two mountains...”

Scorp rolled his eyes. Incredible how so many words could hold so little meaning. “How _ long _?” he asked, hoping at least this way he'd get something concrete.

He _ needed _ a plan or at least some vague simulacrum of one.

“A month or two at best.” Gwen scowled, as if remembering something. “Maybe a couple if things get… problematic. How’s your emergency fund?”

Ah, yes, his ‘emergency fund’. His ‘emergency fund’ was essentially the three months Rose had forced him to save 5%, a.k.a, a pittance.

“Remember that cardboard box I was talking about...?” Scorp’s lips pressed together humorlessly. “Maybe I can go back to Puddlemere, beg them to rip the papers. I literally _ just _ signed them, I mean--”

“_ No _ .” Gwen stood up in her seat and glowered at him. “I swear, if you go back I’ll _ never _ speak to you again, you spineless wanker. Get a job waiting tables, move back with your parents, whatever you do… just… _ trust me _.”

That was all good and well for her to say, but waiting tables sounded _ horrible _ and moving back with his parents? 

Out of the question.

“Do I look for other batting jobs while you’re off pursuing this unlikely miracle of yours?” he drawled, sounding a lot like… shit his dad. Which in turn reminded him of his dad's receding hairline, which in turn reminded him...

Holy hell, he was going to have to start using subpar shampoo. Not only would he sound like his dad, he'd start looking like him too.

The _ horror _.

He was fucked, wasn’t he? He was going to end up a bitter, balding fifty year old barman talking about how, back when he was young, he had _ almost _ made it as a Quidditch player.

“Obviously you start looking for jobs,” she sniggered. “And if a team you fancy offers you a position, you snag it with both hands.”

“But then why wouldn’t I try to get my job back?”

He knew why, he just needed to hear it said out loud by someone else.

“Scorp, you quit Puddlemere because you weren’t _ happy _,” Gwen retaliated. “And the reason you weren’t happy hasn’t changed just because you bloody quit. You’d still be benched and making less money than you would if you were cleaning fucking owl droppings.”

He could go back but then he’d spend the next ten years of his life bitterly wishing he could set Andrew Bell on fire. 

He’d never win the Cup.

“But I could still _ fly _ .” The words caught in his throat and Scorp gritted his teeth. “How can I quit _ flying _?”

“Get a job as a Flight Instructor, fly on weekends, call me up and use me as a Bludger target…” Gwen’s voice trailed off and she grabbed hold of both his hands, squeezing them with excitement. “Look, if my intuition is right, this could work. It could really, _ really _ work!”

“How vague.”

Her enthusiasm was _ almost _ contagious. Unfortunately, she wasn’t giving him nearly enough to go on. 

He needed something tangible and right now the only thing tangible about this conversation was the cup of tea he was holding. 

It wasn't even _ good _ tea.

“I’m not _ promising _ anything, especially on such short notice… which is why you should still look around. If you find a team you like, I’ll be thrilled.” The fierce glint in her eyes returned and she grinned wildly. “But if this works out… fuck, I’ll tell you right now, if this works out, _ I’m _ quitting.”

“You.” Scorp quirked an eyebrow at her, disbelief evident, his grip tightening around the cup. “_ You’ll _ quit your job.”

“Yep.”

“You _ love _ your job.”

“I do. But--”

Scorp rolled his eyes. From what she’d said it was easy to make at least _ some _ basic deductions. 

“Are you planning on starting a new team?”

“Not… _ exactly _.” She hesitated for a second and Scorp scowled. “But it’s something along those lines.”

Several new teams had been birthed over the past few years, each and every one dying a premature death after only a year or two. They didn’t have the funds, they didn’t have the name, they didn’t have the fans.

And here was Gwen Vane, thinking she could pull it off. Foolhardy and ill-advised, of course she’d be all over it… and she was asking him to _ trust _ her? It was all sorts of crazy.

It was also a lifeline.

“Who else would you hire?”

“Not telling.”

“Who would coach it?”

“Not telling.”

“Where will you find the money to bank it?”

“_ Definitely _ not telling you.”

There was an infuriating and slightly manic grin on her face and Scorp's frayed nerves finally snapped. 

“What _ will _ you tell me?!” 

“At this point in time?” There was a tinge of insanity to her laugh. “_Fuck all _.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. -_-; Sorry it took me so long to have the gumption to actually post this. While it's slightly different from what I'd written two months ago, it's only SLIGHTLY different, which means I spent sixty days putting this off.
> 
> Scorp reaching the inevitable conclusion that he needed to quit his job, no matter where his loyalties lay, was hard to write. Harder even to write was the shock of him realising that the structured life he has been building for a while had gone up in flames. Honestly, I was kind of scared of how you guys would react because for most of you, this is probably not what you signed up for. Hell, it's not what I signed up for. If I re-read the first two chapters, it feels like a completely different fanfic but they all grew so much in my head that I couldn't just keep on... idk, playing the fluff. So now we're playing the angst a bit, see how that goes for Witch Slap. 
> 
> I've been planning this for a while now, and I've been putting it off, but there's a series of future chapters already written which are fun and light-hearted and all that goodness... but we can't get there if we don't take this pit stop of vague anxiety and stress.
> 
> Tell me what you think! The usual stands. Review, subscribe, favourite, follow, bookmark, kudo, whatever floats your fanfic loving boat!


	18. Lattes and Blueberry Muffins

**January 10th, 2028**

Rose had spent the past ten minutes running the simulation in her head, while she waited in line. 

_ ‘Good morning, I’d like a cup of coffee so strong that it’ll melt my oesophagus,’ _she’d say. 

_ ‘Sure thing, dear,’ _ they’d say. 

She’d then walk away with a cup of coffee that was as hot as hell and as stiff as death. 

Mission accomplished. 

Unfortunately, Reality had a way of ruining things like that: when it was finally her turn, Rose only managed to get out, “Good morning, I’d like” before It intervened.

“Blueberry Latte Girl!” The cute, silver haired barista who had recently started working at St. Mungo’s cafeteria gave her a smile. “I got you!”

_ ‘No, you don’t!’ _, she wanted to scream.

“Uh… hmm… okay?” was what she stuttered instead, like the _ idiot _ she was.

The girl’s dazzling smile was so bright that Rose’s first impulse was to shield her eyes from it. The best she could muster though was beaming back, because, somehow, it seemed like the only reasonable option under the circumstances.

What the hell was _ wrong _ with her?!

She would just firmly and politely correct her and--

“Haven’t seen you around lately,” Cute Barista said, as she floated a single blueberry muffin onto her tray. “Christmas holidays?”

That was when all remaining bits of Rose’s resolve simultaneously keeled over and died. 

Lattes and muffins be damned. Cute Barista had noticed her absence. Cute barista _ cared_.

“Shivers,” Rose said, shrugging helplessly. “House arrest.”

“You say house arrest, I say holidays!” The barista winked and scurried off to pick her latte. “You lot work too hard anyway.” She gave her wand a few flicks and charmed the foam into a pumping heart that exploded into a million frothy bubbles every few seconds. “There you go.”

Rose stared at it for a few seconds. 

It was _adorable_.

She met the barista’s smile before picking up the tray and retreating to the safety of her table, where Jesse Boot was waving at her.

“So today’s still not the day, is it?” Jesse asked, pulling his tray closer to him to make room for hers.

“Nope.” Rose placed the tray on the table, eyeing its contents with aversion. “They’re all so _ nice_.”

Not only that, they were indoctrinating the new hires in their rotten thoughtfulness as well. Cute Barista had hardly been here for a month and she already knew her as ‘Blueberry Latte Girl’.

She took a defeated sip off the watery, pitiful excuse for a coffee. A shudder crept up her spine as the sweet goop slogged down her throat. 

_ Urgh_.

It was still as horrible as the day before. And the day before that. And the day before the day before that. And…

You get the picture.

“Give it here.” Jesse gave her a pitying look as he took the muffin and the latte from her hands like he did every single time. “Why don’t you just _ tell _ them? It’s a breakfast order, not a personal insult.” 

She couldn’t, really. 

“Don’t start with me, Boot,” Rose groaned, burying her face in her hands. “It’s too early.”

“She won’t die if you tell her you want that nice, fluffy banana bread instead.”

“But I don’t _ want _ that nice, fluffy banana bread either!”

“_I _ might,” Jesse grumbled, though not unkindly. “I’m sick and tired of blueberry muffins.”

Rose’s grim gaze met Jesse’s earnest blue eyes and she scowled. 

“I kid, I _ kid_. Here, before you bite my head off,” Jesse said, picking up the piping hot mug of coffee in front of him and handing it to her. “It’s just _ so _ absurd.”

Her eager hands took the mug from him, grasping it as if it were her first born.

“What’s absurd?”

“The fact that one minute you can look at me like I’m beneath the vile worms that turn bodies into compost and the next you’re too embarrassed to tell a barista you’d like a coffee to go.”

“I’m not _ embarrassed _ and sometimes you’re just insufferable,” Rose grumbled, taking a sip from the coffee. Sweet Circe, that was _ good_. “Mrs. Knight and the rest of them aren’t.”

“In my book they are,” Jesse said, his nose wrinkling as he took a bite from the muffin. “A particularly insidious, low-key sort of bully. Preying on innocent victims and stuffing them full of lattes and blueberry muffins.”

It wasn’t any of their fault, really. The very first day of her internship Rose had turned up, fresh faced and bright eyed and had gingerly and painstakingly picked a latte and blueberry muffin from the endless menu. She had felt like a grown-up and so she’d ordered what she thought a grown-up Rose might order.

It had all been for the aesthetic really.

The next day Mrs. Knight had remembered her and her order. Rose had felt so pleased and validated that she had said yes, of _ course _she wanted another latte and sodding muffin. 

Cut to three and a half years later and this was the result.

What was she supposed to do now, tell them that she hated lattes and muffins? After all this time?

Not a snowflake’s chance in hell.

Jesse eyed her for a few seconds and wisely changed the topic. “How are you doing for Bites? Did you get my notes?”

Ah yes, the Dangerous Bites exam from hell that Healer Hodge was gracing them with next week. It wasn’t enough that they had the residency every day for eight hours, no, they still had to keep up with Egypt’s Ancient Myths and their stingy, chompy bits.

_ ‘It gets better’ _, they’d said. 

_ ‘You’ll remember the residency as the best time of your life’ _, they’d said.

They were bloody liars, that's what they were.

“Lily brought them over. If I don’t sleep for the next few days I might just pull it out of my ass,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. “You’re not looking concerned. Why are you not looking concerned?”

Maybe because Jesse Boot was the sort of balanced person who slept every day, even if he just took a nap. Jesse Boot was also the kind of balanced person who was capable of saying ‘no’ when asked to take an extra graveyard shift, or extra paperwork, whereas she...

Let’s just say if Hodge asked her to learn the can-can and perform it on her underwear in front of all of St. Mungo’s staff, Rose would have just asked what colour he’d like her knickers to be.

“While you were gone, _ I’ve _ been pursuing some interesting rumours about... Hodge slacking off with fourth years,” Jesse said, lowering his voice. “According to Pogey, who took fourth year Bites two years in a row, both years’ questions were very... _ similar_. After I cross referenced it with a few older Healers, the conclusion I’ve reached is that yes, dear old Hodge has in fact been recycling exam questions.”

Rose stared at him for a few seconds. She blinked once. “Are you telling me...”

“_Yep _ .” He gave her a smug look as he downed half the latte. “Those notes I gave you are very, _ very _specific.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I shit you not, my dear,” Jesse said, leaning back against his chair and throwing her a beatific smile. “You might be able to get some sleep after all.”

“And you’re only telling me this now, _ why_?” Rose didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. “It's the best news I’ve had all year!”

“It’s hardly a triumph, considering the year started ten days ago and you’ve been sick and locked up with that prat for the duration of it,” Jesse pointed out drily. Apparently Jesse was as fond of Scorp as Scorp was of Jesse after the Shivers debacle. “Plus, I wanted you to take it easy for a few days, rather than obsess about your proposal.”

Because studying took her mind off it. It was so thoughtful and convoluted that Rose found herself staring at him for a couple of seconds, not knowing what to say.

“Yes, yes, you love me.” Jesse pushed his glasses further up his nose, his face turning an interesting shade of beet red with embarrassment at his own joke. “It’s good to have you back, y’know? Without you around to keep her in check, Penny’s been ten times more obnoxious.”

“You could just tell her to fuck off,” Rose suggested, a small smile on her face.

“You could just tell Cute Barista you want a coffee, black as your soul,” Jesse said, rolling his eyes. “But none of those things are going to happen anytime soon, are they?”

* * *

Rose hummed under her breath as she made her way to her Magical Bugs rotation. Two weeks of being home had left her feeling rested and refreshed and the breakfast with Jesse had somehow only intensified that spark of… wellness. It was a pleasant, albeit completely alien feeling. That along with the news that Hodge was lazing with the exam questions... life was good for once. 

At the very least, it was _ easier_. 

She was still obviously going to study like a lunatic, because that was just who she was. Rose trusted Boot’s infallible gut up to a reasonable degree, but there was a more cautious side of her that told her it couldn’t possibly be _ that _ easy. Hodge might have had an urge to review the exam questions precisely this year and... 

Still, for once she might actually take her time and _ learn _ things instead of shoving them in her brain and hoping they’d stick. She appreciated that more than anything, the possibility of studying _ well _ rather than just studying.

The karmic leveler came faster than she expected, as she stumbled upon Odgen and his impossibly sour face on the hallway. He actually seemed to perk up at the sight of her and, for a second, Rose actually deceived herself into thinking he might be happy to see her, relieved for her sake even.

“Ah, Miss Weasley,” Ogden said, giving her a calculating look that told her he was feeling nothing of the sort. “Feeling better, are you?”

“Yes, I--”

“I’m so glad I caught you,” he interrupted, not even letting her finish. “I’ve just been called over to Scotland - they’re having a fascinating panel about Healing Ethics and reviewing whether we should be aiding our fellow Muggles fight cancer and whatnot - and there’s a series of reports that need to be filled in ASAP.”

He pointedly stared at her for a few seconds and Rose struggled to find the words to turn him down. “Well, I’d be delighted to help but--”

“Splendid!” He placed an arm around her shoulder and turned her around, herding her in the general direction of his office before she knew what was happening. “I can’t tell you how invaluable your assistance is--”

For the second time that morning, Rose found herself swallowing a stiff cup of depresso.

“-- you’re an absolute gem in this place, everyone else is just so keen on shirking their duties --”

Rose nodded dumbly, hating herself for the small bit of her that was beaming at his praise. Much like Cute Barista’s acknowledgement of her existence, Ogden’s flattery was something she had no defences against.

“-- not to mention I can always count on you to make sense of the unintelligible notes our fellow healers leave. Ah, here we are!”

He opened the door for her to enter before him and stepping in shortly thereafter, circling his desk to pull a series of clipboards and stacks from the desk in front of him. “Half of these should be ready by lunchtime, I think--” He glanced over at the clock on the wall. “Better make that noon, you know how Aspen gets when she doesn’t get her charts in time for rounds…”

Rose mutely allowed him to pile up a series of papers on her arms. She was vaguely aware of a separate, almost remote part of her screaming with indignation… and she shut it down in order to hear the endless list of instructions he was spouting about each chart. 

There was no way she was worming her way out of this now. If she was being honest with herself, her fate had been sealed the moment her and Ogden’s eyes had met.

After he was finally done, she only asked, “Noon you said?” because what else could she do? Say ‘no’?

She really needed to learn to walk with her eyes on the damned floor.

“Yes, Miss Weasley,” he said, half smirking at her. It was an odd thing, to see the man producing a smile - both terrifying and a little rewarding. That stupid panel must have meant a lot to him. “You’re so dependable, you’ve been sorely missed.”

And Rose smiled back and nodded, wondering to herself how exactly she was going to face Choi after having ditched the first rotation she’d had for two whole weeks. It wasn’t like she could blame Ogden - she should have told him, in no uncertain way, to shove those clipboards up his arse. 

Unfortunately, much like Jesse would let the people he loved walk over him, she would let anyone she didn’t know well walk all over _ her_.

* * *

“You saw Malfoy _ naked _ ?! Oh, sweet, _ sweet _ Merlin’s graying bottom please tell me _ all_!”

Rose nearly choked on the coffee she was sipping. She looked around to see Penny Nicholson practically skipping over, her Cheshire grin ever present. 

“And speaking of bottoms…”

“Talk louder, will you?” Rose hissed between gritted teeth as she grabbed Pen’s arm and pulled her into a nearby supply closet, closing the door behind them. “I don’t think the whole of London heard you!”

“Ah, so you _ have _ seen Malfoy in the buff," Pen replied smugly, lowering her voice into a conspiratorial tone. "I thought Boot was blowing it out of proportion, as usual. What was it _ like_?!”

Ah, damn, she’d all but admitted to it.

Rose tossed her coffee cup into a nearby bin and nervously started thumbing through a neat stack of forms on one of the shelves. If anyone walked in, at least that would help project the illusion that they were indeed working and not in fact talking about how her flatmate looked in the nude.

“Mostly sweaty and gross,” Rose replied, pointedly avoiding looking at the brunette, which was rather fruitless considering Penny was so close she was practically hugging her. “You know, Shivers.”

“I meant his _ penis_, Rose.” 

Oh, _ Merlin_. 

It was one thing to happen upon a penis in the wilderness, as one often did in their line of work. Another thing entirely was for one to entertain thoughts of specific penises on one's free time.

“I’m not going to talk to you about Malfoy’s…” Rose practically choked on the word, pushing the image away from her mind. “Nope. Not happening.”

Focus, Rose. Anything _ but _ Scorp’s--

“C’mon, you’re a Healer, you can say penis,” Pen scolded. “Or dick, or wang, or--”

“I don’t need a thesaurus, you bint! I’m _ still _ not going to tell you about his penis, dick, wang, whatever!” Rose interrupted, deliberately turning to scowl at Penny, whose grin was probably hurting her cheeks at this point. “Healer-Patient confidentiality.”

“I call _ bullshite_, Weasley. From what Boot told me, you were as much his patient as he was yours.” Penny tutted, a hand on her heart with mock sentimentality. “Playing Healer, oh my. He told me all about how your knight in shining armour--”

Jesse Boot had better watch his back because if she ran into him today, he was _ dead_, no matter how many times he saved her from those disgusting lattes and muffins. 

“Fuck off and stop fantasising about it. It was awful and sweaty and gross and that’s _ that_.” 

“The world is very, very unfair.” Penny pouted while still somehow managing to look like a malicious imp. “Had it been me--”

“You’d have what, whispered tender nothings in his ear as he barfed?”

Knowing Penny, she might have.

“No,” Penny admitted, her shit-eating grin never faltering even for a second, “but at the very least, like the good friend I am, I’d give you a _ detailed _account of his bum.” 

Rose sighed and tried to push the mental image of Scorpius Malfoy’s arse away from her mind. The only problem with that was the fact that thinking about his bum was far better than the alternative, which was thinking about his grin. 

His bum was fine, sure, but that cheeky smile of his made her go a little weak at the knees. It didn't help that he was becoming so liberal with giving it away either.

She wondered if he would be alright with quitting Puddlemere. In ten years she’d never seen him looking so frazzled as he had this morning and--

“You’re _ thinking _ about him,” Penny cried in a sing-song voice, hugging her from behind and tugging them left and right in a weird, improvised dance of sorts. “_Tell _ me!”

What was there to tell, really? 

That it had taken her months, _ years _ even, before she’d come to appreciate Scorpius Malfoy’s bum? 

That meeting his grey eyes made her chest feel _ just _ a little tighter than it should?

No, thank you. She’d rather _ die_. Pen was already insufferable. If she actually admitted to anything, anything at all, there would be no end to her obnoxious, _ knowing _ grins.

“There’s nothing _ to _ tell.” Rose stuck to her guns and scowled. “He’s still as pasty as he ever was, and so is his bum.”

Ah yes, _ lying_. Lying was good. 

Rose just wished she was better at it.

“Woman, are you _ blind_?!”

She wasn’t, of course. 

He’d always been cute in that blond sort of way, but he’d also been a complete asswipe. She might have a lot of flaws, but it was a personal point-of-pride to her that she had _ never _been attracted to asswipes, no matter how cute their butts looked. 

Now, however, he wasn't just a good looking asswipe, he was a person. 

A person who had stuck with her through yelling and sweat and vomit. A person who charmed crackers into animal shapes for her sake. A person who tried to get her to take breaks and read books she liked. A person who cooked and cleaned for her.

Rose was suddenly possessed by a very strong desire to shield him from prying eyes, to keep that little flicker far, _far_ away from Penny.

“Can we _ please _ stop objectifying my flatmate?” Rose replied in the steadiest voice she could muster. “We can talk about something that’s not boys, you know? Where’s your feminism?!”

“Feminism schmeminism,” Penny scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “I’ll march for my right to show my tits all you want... _ after _ you’re done telling me all about your flatemate’s pasty bum.”

“How’s your proposal treating you?” Rose asked, in a daring attempt to change the subject to something that wouldn’t make her cringe when she reviewed the conversation later. “How did Thatcher take it?”

Lies and misdirection, of course. If she threw enough sand in Penny’s eyes, maybe she’d forget about Scorp’s arse.

Doubtful, but it was worth a shot.

“Peachy. Thatcher approved our initial draft. He was rather thrilled about it, and it was such garbage.” Pen’s hands dropped from her shoulders and she gave her a long, hard stare. “It’s such a waste. You’re living with two of the dishiest men I know and you don’t even care.”

“In my defence, Al’s my _ cousin_.”

“Yes, and if I had a cousin that looked _ that _good I’d jump his bones. Turn that incest into wincest.”

Rose just stared blankly back at her.

Wha--

How--

Just… there were no words.

“You could bounce a quarter off his arse, you know? And by ‘you’ I mean ‘me’ and by ‘quarter’ I mean--”

“Pen.”

Amazing how a single word could convey such disappointment and condescension with just the smallest whiff of annoyance. 

It was also incredible just how much she sounded like her mum sometimes.

“Eesh, fine,” Pen protested, throwing her hands up . “You’re _ far _too serious today. Are you sure you’re well enough to come back? You could stay at home a while longer, no one would think less of you.”

After three days of being stuck inside the house it had felt like she might die of boredom. After two weeks she’d been climbing up and down the walls. She’d been so eager to return to this, to the frantic, fast paced environment of her day job that she’d practically skipped all the way over this morning.

“Eh.” Rose gave a half-hearted shrug. “Resting is overrated.”

“What are you doing, then?”

“Ogden dropped a mountain of paperwork on my lap.” Rose scowled. “I hadn’t even been back for a whole hour and...”

“Did he now?” Penny’s smile was wiped clean off her face. “You don’t say.”

“Yeah. I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to sort it out by noon.”

In fact, she wasn’t sure she even had time for this conversation. She’d just stepped out to get herself coffee from the dispenser before she’d been ambushed by Pen and now she’d lost what, ten minutes of priceless time?

“Mmmhmm,” Penny hummed, a thoughtful look on her face. “Tell you what, I’ll help.” 

“Really? Don’t you have Clinic today?”

Out of all of them, Penny was the Clinic’s biggest fan. She’d grown up with Muggleborn medicine and medical shows and she viewed wizarding medicine as something cute and curious but not dramatic or _ real _ enough for her. She had latched onto Thatcher like fleas on a dog and was currently paving her way to a brilliant and bloody career.

“Fuck Clinic.” The brunette wrapped an arm around her shoulders and opened the door for them, herding Rose away from the supply room. “I was thinking about cutting anyway.”

Penny Nicholson suddenly saying she wanted to skip Clinic wasn’t _ natural_.

“_Why _?” Rose touched the back of her hand to Pen’s forehead, feeling a mix of worry and amusement. “Are you dying?”

For a few seconds there was no reply and Rose dropped her hand to her side, eyebrows furrowing.

“It’s just… I haven’t seen you this rested in months,” Penny replied, gently placing a hand on Rose’s head and ruffling her hair. “It’s nice.” 

“What does _ that _ have to do with anything?!” Rose swatted Pen's hand away and gingerly brushed her fingers through her curls trying to fix the damage. “Are you quite alright?”

“Quite,” she replied, her usually grinning face scrunching into a frown. “I’m just saying it suits you, not being all… dead inside.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Come on. Let’s go through Ogden’s shite so we can get on with our lives.” 

* * *

There were floating charts all around and at least four quills writing simultaneously. While Penny’s penmanship was pretty much illegible for anyone who didn’t work at St. Mungo’s, she wrote faster than Rose and between the two of them, they had done quick work of the charts, reports and exam requests. 

They’d even spotted one or two mistakes in the Potion dosages being administered and had triumphantly Owled the Healers in question.

All in all, a productive morning.

“Ah, Miss Weasley,” Healer Ogden said, pushing the door open. He was holding a series of folders and charts which he undoubtedly intended to drop on her table. “Are you done?”

“Yes.” Rose, who was just finishing penciling in the last few characters, offered him a weak smile.

_ Please don’t give me those, please don’t give me those, please-- _

Penny Nicholson cleared her throat, smiling sweetly at Healer Ogden. “Healer Ogden, it’s lovely to see you.” 

“Miss Nicholson.”

“How was your panel?” 

Rose recoiled. She _ knew _ that tone. It was the tone Penny used before she completely lost her shit.

“It was good, there were a series of topics we don’t talk about enough--”

Rose watched with horror as the brunette got up to her feet and started accioing the charts and files before handing them to him, with perhaps a tad too much brute force. 

“Thank you, Miss Nicholson.” He took them, awkwardly juggling them with the ones he’d been holding and looked from Rose’s stricken look to Penny’s widely defiant one. It was painfully obvious who the weak link was between the two of them and Rose braced herself for the inevitable. “Miss Weasley, I was hoping you could--”

“Hoping she could what, Healer Ogden?” Her tone was pleasant enough, along with the ever present shit-eating grin. And yet there was a bite to her voice that Ogden hopefully hadn’t noticed. “Take care of that paperwork, you mean?”

_ No _. Bad Penny.

“Why, yes. Here--” He started unscrambling the paperwork, handing it over to Penny. “It’s only a couple of forms--”

“You are of course aware that Rose had rounds this morning with Healer Flemming, rounds that she couldn’t attend because of… _ this_.” 

That was a blatant lie. Rose didn’t have any Pediatrics rounds scheduled with Flemming for another two weeks, courtesy of her little Shivers stint. But since they both knew Ogden didn't actually care enough to know her schedule, Penny was apparently making it up as she went.

“You didn’t tell me that, Miss Weasley. Of course I would have--”

“And of course right now I’m supposed to be in Clinic and Rose is supposed to be on her way to Dangerous Bites.”

“Well then, she should have _ told _ me, now, shouldn’t she?” 

Healer Ogden had one of those foul-tempered faces when he wasn’t angry. He now looked like he might have an apoplexy.

“Well… I...” Rose could feel her knees growing weak as she met his eye and stuttered out an unintelligible response. “Erm… You see… I...”

“With all due respect, you never give her a fucking chance to,” Penny scolded, her voice rising as she stepped back into Ogden’s line of sight, drawing the fire. After one or two seconds, she added a thoughtful “Sir,” as if that might make any difference.

Penny, you brave idiot. You stupid, stupid _ idiot_.

“What she means is--”

“I know what she means, Miss Weasley,” Ogden fumed, pulverising her attempt at diffusing the situation. “Miss Nicholson, I know you think yourself untouchable but just because someone in your family offered St. Mungo’s a new ward it doesn’t mean--”

Wait, what?

The Thaddeus Nicholson ward was named after someone in Penny’s family?

How did she not know this?

“That’s of very little consequence here,” Penny deflected, clearly embarrassed by the association. “But her mum _ is _ the Minister for Magic. And her dad _ is _ Ronald Weasley. And her uncle _ is _ Harry Bloody Potter.” 

Clearly Penny had problems with flaunting her own family name but she wasn’t beneath flaunting hers.

The cold pit of dread in Rose’s stomach grew until she was certain it would swallow her whole. Hell, she _ wished _ it would.

“And of course there’s Ginny Potter. And I know for a fact that they’ve been missing her at family dinners and whatnot. What _ exactly _ do you think they might do if they knew half of the time she spends here is because you keep--”

“No, Penny, just…” Rose stuttered, grabbing her arm and digging her nails into Penny’s fleshy arm. “I’m so sorry Healer Ogden, she’s probably a bit feverish, just--”

“Shut up, Rose,” she hissed. “I _ know _what I’m saying.”

“Do you really, Miss Nicholson? Because it sounded an awful lot like you want to get suspended, along with Miss Weasley.”

“No.” Rose’s heart sank. “_ No_.”

“Rose, for Merlin’s sake, calm down,” Penny said, sniggering. “He doesn’t have the authority.”

Well that was new information. Rose’s eyes met Ogden’s and she raised a single eyebrow. “_Don’t _ you?”

“Of course not, he just made Healer what, eight years ago? He’s a self-important --” 

“You are of course aware that I’m still here, Miss Nicholson?”

“-- arrogant, _ lazy _ ass. Of course I am, Healer Ogden,” Penny said, gently patting Rose’s hand for comfort which Rose really appreciated because she was feeling a little faint. Confrontation at the workplace was something she was only too keen on avoiding and here was Penny, shattering the veneer of civility into a million little pieces. “And if you know what’s damned good for you, you’ll stop dropping your shite on Rose or I swear to Merlin--”

“You’ll do _ what_?”

Penny wordlessly dropped Rose’s hand and she circled the table until she was standing inches away from him, arms crossed defiantly in front of her chest.

“Well, Miss Nicholson?”

“Well, Healer Ogden, I might feel tempted to tell everyone _ all _ about last year’s Christmas Party.” Penny watched with satisfaction as his eyes widened with shock and his usually grayish looking face coloured. “That’s _ right_, you remember. I remember. I’m so _ glad _ we all remember.”

Rose felt like she was a mere spectator in one of the most dramatic and terrifying scenes of her entire life. 

She daren’t breathe.

“So now that we’re clear about all this, move along,” Penny said, self-importantly opening the door and presenting it to Ogden, who seemed a bit too stunned to come up with a proper response. “Go pester some other intern. Hell, Sauvage will be thrilled if you drop these on him, you two will get along famously.”

The second the door closed Penny sagged down against it until her butt hit the floor. She hid her face between her hands. “_Shite_.”

Rose walked over to her, unsure if she should give the brutal girl the hug she so rightly deserved. The usually cool and collected Penny Nicholson, force of nature looked a lot like she was… hyperventilating. “What… just... _ happened_?”

“I don’t know, by the end I was just babbling,” Penny said, laughing weakly. “I just know he thinks I have a ward named after me, when my very Muggle parents have never even set foot in St. Mungo’s.”

“Wait, what?!”

“_Yep_.”

Penny Nicholson had balls of steel, that was what she had.

Rose let herself fall down next to her, floored both literally and emotionally. “So all that was just… bluffing?”

“Well, not the bit about last year’s Christmas Party.” Penny let out a high pitched laughter, her stress finally seeping into her chuckle. “That was the only ace I had up my sleeve. It could’ve just as well turned out to be a deuce.”

“What happened last year at the Christmas Party?”

Nothing really ever happened at the St. Mungo’s Christmas Party. They were all boring, stuffy affairs, full of nodding and hand shaking and ass kissing.

“I shagged him, of course,” Penny explained matter-of-factly, like shagging senior Healers was something she did every day. 

In Penny’s case she might be. Rose suspected the only reason she didn't know about this was because her first impulse was always to stick her fingers in her ears and go la-la-la whenever Penny launched into one of her _ incredibly _ detailed accounts of her flings.

“Pen, he’s...”

“Married, I know. Jesse told me a few months ago,” Pen said, resting her head back against the door with a smirk. “If it’s any consolation I only _ suspected _ it at the time.”

Oh, Penny. 

Penny, Penny, _ Penny_.

“I was going to say ancient but… but now _ that _ too! Just… _ why_?”

“Honestly?” Penny shrugged. “I was drunk and he was there.”

Rose lips pursed into a thin line.

As far as horrible shagging choices went, Rose couldn't exactly judge Penny. Her pre-requisites for a one-night stand were, similarly to Pen's, alcohol and physical presence... though she'd never been addled enough to actually shag someone twenty years her senior or who shared her place of employment.

_Yet_.

“So you just threatened his marriage to get him off my back?”

Rose didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

“Well yes. Though A, I wasn’t sure if he was already married at the time, B, I wasn’t sure if he’d care and C, I’d never actually do it, you know.” She sniggered and brushed a hand through her long black hair, giving it a flick. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Pen, you do." Rose winced and brushed a hand through her own mop of red hair, though there was no flicking of any sort - just anxious tugging. "Often in excruciating detail."

“Not to his wife I wouldn’t.”

“It’s bad enough that you slept with him.”

“Oh, darling, we did a lot more than just sleeping,” Penny purred, the Cheshire Cat grin returning. “He’s not half bad either.”

“And you’re telling me this _ why_?”

“Honestly? I’m nervous.” She showed Rose her shaking hand, that incredibly steady hand she’d been training since she’d been ten and she’d decided she’d rather enjoy slicing people’s chests open when she grew up. “That was shitty. _ Why _ didn’t you stop me?!”

Rose couldn’t help but chuckle, her shoulder giving Pen’s a small nudge. “I did _ try_.”

“Try harder next time, will you?”

“Sure, love,” Rose said, though she doubted she'd ever be successful.

Standing in front of Penny when she was on the warpath was something a sane person would never do. 

“You’re going to have to stand up for yourself someday, you know? You can’t keep taking work that’s not yours.”

“Someday. Just not… today." Rose bit down her shaking lip and nodded silently. “Why the sudden campaign for my welfare? Jesse was also--”

“I passed you by earlier and you were _ humming_.” Pen stretched her arms over her head, her prodigious bosom jutting out. “Quite off key, I may add. Thanks, by the way, you didn’t even say ‘hi’ after two bloody weeks. But it was the least… well, _ miserable _ I’ve seen you since we’ve met. And I was getting tired of watching that wanker bully you.”

“So you decided to give him a whipping?”

“Kinky,” Penny said, waggling her eyebrows. “But no, I just really wanted to see that smug arsehole taken down a notch or two. Call it a personal achievement.” 

“Thanks, Pen.” Rose leaned against Penny and let her head rest on the girl’s shoulder. “I appreciate it.” After a few seconds she asked, “Do you suppose we’ll be jerks when we’re Healers?”

“Probably. The only one out of the whole lot who isn’t a complete shitehead is Healer Aspen. And I love Thatcher, but, you know, it’s definitely not because of his sparkling personality.” 

“I like Choi... but I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.” Rose shuddered as she remembered the way Choi talked about Sauvage. “I wonder if they had it this bad when they were residents.”

“They _ are _ nice to the patients though,” Penny mused. “Maybe they’re just as done with this place as we are.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“What about your proposal? Have you gotten anywhere with it?”

Rose snorted.

For one to propose something, one had to actually have an idea of _what _to propose… and after all this time she still had zilch, nada, diddly-squat. She didn't even have a particular specialty in mind. Pen had her obsession with Clinic and Jesse had his fatal attraction to lost causes.

What did she have?

“I’m going to take that as a ‘no’.”

Jesse was doing this amazing research project whereupon he’d be trying to remove not only memories of smoking, but also cherry picking the actual habit out of someone. 

In an unlikely twist of fate, Melissa and Pen had teamed up and asked for Thatcher’s patronage as they tried to emulate the Muggle MRI technology by creating a more accurate divination spell than the ones they currently used. 

Even bloody Sauvage was being a productive member of society. In the past month he’d apparently taken Choi’s criticism to heart and picked up a book that wasn’t in the curriculum. From what Jesse had told her, Sauvage had managed to get himself involved in a small study involving a series of Undeads in cooperation with Hoytzer’s Hospital in Berlin.

And then there was her.

“Yeah.” She tried to sound dismissive and in control. “But I still have time.”

Alas, she did not feel dismissive or in control. The deadline was looming over her head and she still had a whole big, fat load of nothing.

“Damn right you do,” Penny said, a small grin curling her lips.

"Not a long time though." Rose’s stomach churned slightly. “And everyone else has handed it in. You and Jess--”

“You need to stop bloody comparing yourself to me and Jesse or I’m going to hex all of that poofy hair off,” Pen threatened, getting up to her feet and holding out her hands to help Rose to her feet. “It’s not the same.” 

Rose protested, “Of course it’s the same--”

“The first time Boot saw you smoking, I could see the gears in his brain turning and coming up with that stupid project of his,” Penny said, shaking her head with obvious disapproval. “I’m into Muggle medicine and Lewis is a Divination buff. It makes sense for us. You just need to figure out what would make sense for _ you_.”

“Sure.” Rose forced a smile onto her face. “What makes sense for me, huh?”

She didn’t say what she felt, which was really ‘what if nothing makes sense for me?’.

“Don’t just agree with me for the sake of agreeing, you know I hate it,” Penny scoffed. “When the time comes, if you’re desperate, you can always tag along with me and Lewis. But until then, you have time to figure out what you want.”

Melissa and Pen were the sort of people who would carry her to the finish line if need be, without her having to move a single finger to help. 

Rose wished she had the humility to accept it, she really did. Alas, she was too proud, too stubborn and too self-aware. It made her sick to her stomach to think what people might say about handouts and favouritism.

The only problem was that she still didn’t have a viable alternative.

“Pen, I don’t _ want _ anything.”

“_Yet _,” Penny said. “You hide in Magical Bugs because it’s safe and you’re good at it, but you have options. You could take one of the spring internships, casual date a few different specialties before you commit, postpone your proposal--”

“_No_,” Rose spat. “And turn out like Erin Bloomby, who’s been interning for what, _five years_ now?”

“Don’t you _ dare _ compare yourself to Erin Bloomby, you bint. She’s got half your brains and none of your wit.”

“Yes, that’s how I’ll find my way out of this conundrum,” Rose scowled, opening the door and stepping out. “My brains and my wit.”

“I don’t know why you say it like that, you idiot,” Penny said, grabbing her arm and holding her back. “Rose, you’re smart. You work hard. The patients love you. You’re a decent diagnostician and, while I definitely wouldn’t trust you around a needle, you’re pretty nifty with a wand, especially when you don’t have the time to panic.” 

Incredible how when compliments came from people that mattered they never struck as hard as when they did from random almost-strangers.

“Penny…”

“Penny Schmenny.” She placed both hands on Rose’s face and leaned in until their foreheads were touching. “Now, repeat after me…”

Rose’s eyes met Pen’s laughing gaze, mostly because there was no other option when she was standing so close. She tried to free herself from Penny’s grasp, but her hands had Rose’s face in a vice.

“I’d like to point out that A, this is ridiculous and B, it will likely produce a lot of rumours if people see us.” 

“Desperate times require desperate measures. Now stop squirming before I decide to actually snog you and give those rumours some legs to stand on,” Penny scolded. Rose stopped moving instantly. “Good girl. Now repeat after me: I am _ brilliant_.”

“I am… _ really_, Pen?”

“Yes, _ really_,” Pen said, mimicking her tone. “This will take a lot less time if you cooperate. Now… I am _ brilliant_.”

“I am brilliant,” Rose repeated obediently.

“I am a _ stunning _ diagnostician.”

“I don’t know if I’d say stunning, but like--”

“_Stunning_, Rose,” Penny said irritably. “_Stunning_.”

“I am a _ stunning _ diagnostician.”

She was kind of getting into it now. If she disregarded how utterly corny this was, it was actually kind of... nice.

“My patients love me even though I let them boss me around.”

“My patients love me and I _definitely_ don’t let them boss me around.”

“You _ do _ let them go on endless tirades about their cats though,” Penny pointed out. “And their kids.”

“That I do,” Rose said, one of the corners of her mouth curling upwards. “Which is precisely_ why _ they love me.”

“Good,” Penny said, her grin widening. “Now… I study harder than everyone else because I’m a maniac.”

“I _ do _ study harder than everyone else because I’m a maniac,” Rose said, a small smile on her face. “What else you got?”

There was a pause for a few seconds and Penny dropped her hands from her face, wrapping her arms around Rose instead. 

“I love my dear friend Penny.”

“I _ definitely _ love my dear friend Penny,” Rose said softly, leaning into Penny and closing her eyes. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“And yet you love me,” Pen said, spitting out a piece of hair that had lodged itself in her mouth and letting out a low chuckle that tickled Rose's ear. “To bits.” 

“And pieces.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one week? Is this a parallel universe?
> 
> Nope, it's not. Like I said, the last chapter was blocking all this goodness and now here we are! My gift to you in these troubled times we're living in. I hope you're all doing okay and staying safe!
> 
> This chapter's been written for... months. Like MONTHS. It was just waiting for the right time to emerge and now here it is! I really loved writing it. It's one of my favourites yet :) Thanks as always to TheChirpyBitch for proofing, especially since life has just gotten extra hard! 
> 
> As usual comment, subscribe, kudo, bookmark, favourite or follow - but mostly comment, I love those!


	19. The Bludger Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently my MO is either to bang out a chapter in three days or to spend months struggling against a scene that isn't working, only to scrap it entirely and bang out a new one in three days. *overdramatically kills self* Enjoy! As usual, thanks to TheChirpyWitch for proofing this nonsense!

**January 10th, 2028 - 11pm**

Al peeled his gaze away from the fireplace to look at Rose, who had just let out a throaty chuckle. 

She was lying on the carpeted floor, her legs resting over the seat of the couch and reading some notes. Gone was the sullen mien she usually bore, gone were the glares, the muttered curses, the sighs and the puffs. 

Most importantly, gone was that pervasive aura of panic that always surrounded her.

Instead, she seemed to be having a reverse meltdown of sorts: every once in a while, she’d _laugh_. 

At her _notes_.

Like she was having _fun_.

Al was afraid to even ask. He had no idea of what was happening to her, but she was acting like an entirely different person.

On the one hand, he wondered whether he should feel concerned. 

On the other, he never wanted it to stop. _ Ever_.

Between Rose’s prelude of madness and Scorp’s messages a few hours earlier, Al wasn’t at all sure of what to do with himself.

_ ‘Quit Puddlemere but the Magpies thing tanked. I’ll be home late, don’t wait up.’ _

The first message had sent him scrambling away from his desk. He’d grabbed his coat, told his coworkers that he ‘wasn’t feeling very well’ and then bolted for the door.

Before he could call Scorp, he’d gotten a second one.

_ ‘I’m fine.’ _

That inspired very little confidence. But no matter how many times he’d called and messaged back, Scorp hadn’t answered.

And so Al had gone home and waited. 

It was almost 11 p.m. and he was waiting still.

He let go an irritated huff and stood back up, pacing aimlessly around the living room to let out some of the frustration that was eating at him.

“He’ll be home soon,” Rose said, lowering her (apparently hilarious) notes to her chest. “And he said he’s fine.”

“Yes,” Al grumbled between gritted teeth, “because when people say they’re ‘fine’ they’re never lying.”

“Worrying won’t make him come home faster,” she pointed out, pulling her legs down and rolling to sit with her back against the couch. “Go have dinner or something.”

It was odd seeing her sitting on the floor rather than her usual spot, but honestly, she looked happy, so he wasn’t about to suggest tinkering with any variables that might make her less so.

“Lady Anxiety telling me to chill?” Al asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a seat on the couch close to her. “What are you _ on_?”

She turned back to face him, draped her arm on the couch and rested her chin on it.

“Hodge recycles exam questions and Boot gave me tailored notes,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Plus, Penny practically bit that asshole Odgen’s head off.”

Al blinked and shook his head. “Wow.”

“It was a _ good _ day.”

Scorpius, on the other hand, was possibly having the worst day of his life.

The universe had a weird way of keeping score.

“Does this mean you’ll stop having massively fucked up schedules?”

“I mean...” Rose, who was apparently tired of craning her neck to look back at him, got up to her feet and plopped onto the couch next to him. “I’ll still have massively fucked up schedules, but I doubt Odgen will be dropping extra shifts or paperwork on my lap any time soon.”

She was practically thrumming with energy.

He really should buy Boot and Penny a drink.

“I know you’re worried,” Rose said, laying on her back and stretching her leg to nudge his nose with her foot, “but we don’t know what happened yet.”

“Eww, woman.” Al grabbed her toe between his index finger and his thumb and pulled it away from his face. “Just disgusting.”

She grinned and struggled to bring her foot closer again, an impish grin on her face. “Yes, but am I disgustingly _ right_?”

“If you don’t stop sticking your nasty foot on my face, I’ll hex it off,” Al threatened, grabbing her leg and forcefully lowering it. “And yes, of course you are. Doesn’t stop me from worrying about him.”

“Do you think he’s miserable?”

Now _she _sounded worried and Al had to bite down a chuckle. “I have no idea.”

You didn’t need to be a genius to figure out where those two idiots were headed. They’d gone from bickering out of spite, to bickering out of habit; from not being able to stand each other’s presence, to subconsciously seeking it out; from ‘I hope he gets hit by a Bludger’, to ‘do you think he’s miserable?’.

In a twisted sort of way, Al wished that things would go back to the way they were before. There was a tiny, selfish, petty part of him that yearned for Rose to go back to hating Scorp and for Scorp to go back to hating Rose... just so he could keep them both separate and unchanged.

Fortunately, that was just a tiny part of him; the rest had pretty much started drafting his best man speech and compiling a list of names for their future children.

“Al?” 

A foot appeared in his peripheral vision and he smacked it away. “What?”

“I asked whether I should make myself scarce, let you deal with him alone…?”

Damn, she just kept asking difficult questions.

He genuinely didn’t know what to answer. Unlike Rose who hugged and comforted, or Scorp who fixed things and analysed his way through problems, Al would be hard-pressed to pinpoint his own MO. 

Usually, he’d just do _stuff _and things would mostly turn out alright… but he’d be damned if he had any idea what that _stuff _actually was.

And so, as usual, he went with his gut.

“_Stay_.”

And Rose Weasley, who three months prior had declared that she hated Scorpius Malfoy and wanted him to burn in hell, just nodded and waited with him.

* * *

**January 11th, 2028 - 1am**

It was one on the clock when the fireplace burned green and spat out an ashen-faced Scorp. 

“I told you not to wait,” the blonde boy said, straightening himself up and throwing the pair of them a look that bordered on resentful. “I’m exhausted, I’m going to bed.”

There was nothing ‘fine’ about the way he looked, but ‘exhausted’ Al would believe in a heartbeat. His smile was strained and now he really _did _look like he’d been trampled on by a herd of Thestrals. 

Rose’s hesitant voice broke the silence. “What happened?” 

“Quit Puddlemere and the Magpies already hired someone two days ago. Did you not get my message at all?”

Rose immediately got up to her feet, ready to comfort, to console, to reassure -- but the look that Scorp had thrown her had left her hovering with uncertainty. It probably would have been better for all of them if she’d just gone for it and hugged the guy… but she didn’t, clearly paralysed by rejection.

Pity. Since Scorp clearly didn’t want to talk, physical affection might have been the best way to go at it. 

Al might’ve tried it himself, but he doubted it’d have the same effect.

“I did get your sodding message.” Al got up to his feet with practised carelessness, which was no mean feat considering the sucking pit of anxiety that his cousin was now exuding. He resisted the natural urge to ask all the questions that had been left unanswered and changed the topic: “Where’ve you been?”

“Popped by my parents’ to let them know,” Scorp said, taking his wand from his pocket and placing it in the bowl. “And before you ask, yes, I had dinner.”

At least eating would have bought them some time.

“How well you know me. Are you sure you don’t want to stay and chat for a bit?” 

“I’m just…” Scorp’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head with a defeated look. “I’m just tired. _ Really _tired. It was a _ long _ day.”

There was nothing lingering about Scorp’s attitude. It wasn’t that he was exactly unwelcoming, but it was clear that all the guy wanted to do was sleep… and there was nothing they could do about it.

“Get some rest, mate,” Al said, shrugging and patting Scorp’s shoulder. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Scorp did just that. Left, without even throwing them a backwards glance.

There was something anti-climatic and unnatural about it: it was the prerogative of every best friend to bear witness to the misery of their counterparts, to mock them and reassure them… and he’d been all but robbed of it.

Selfish wanker.

“Well, that went well,” Al said, throwing his jittery cousin an amused look. “Don’t look so down.”

“He _ is _ miserable.”

“Miserable, but also exhausted.” Al sat on the arm of the couch and patted the seat next to him. “Can’t help it, the bloke goes to bed at eleven every day like an old lady, he must be knackered.”

Rose followed him and let herself fall on the couch, looking helpless and utterly frustrated.

“I didn’t know what to _do_,” she spat, covering her eyes with her hands. “I froze.”

“That you did,” Al agreed, wrapping an arm around her head and patting her mass of curls. “He won’t mind you hugging him, you know?”

In fact, if the hug from that morning was any indication, Scorp wouldn’t be opposed to it at _all_.

“That was just an impulse.” Rose sniffled indignantly and struggled to free herself from his grasp. “I can’t just go around randomly hugging the bloke every time I feel--”

“Why not?” Al let go of her with a smile. “If you feel like he could use one, odds are he does. Why’s he any different from me or anyone else for that matter?”

Ah, the crux of the matter. 

He rested his chin on his hand and watched with evil glee as his cousin’s cheeks turned slightly pink.

“Isn’t he your friend?”

Goading her, just a _ little_. 

“He is.” Rose looked dead serious, her eyes taking on a hard look. “He is my friend.”

“That’s… good.” Al had to struggle to keep a straight face. “I’m glad you two are getting along.”

He wondered whether he should start his speech with a terrible joke or with a really embarrassing anecdote…?

* * *

**January 11th, 2028 - 5am**

“Stage three, engaged!” His own voice bellowed across the room and, not for the first time since his alarm sequence had kicked in, Half-Asleep Al cursed Awake Al.

Stage one was just an appetizer, really. Al had simply tuned out the shimmering orbs that were blaring “wake up” and other profanities of the sort right next to his ear.

The onslaught of floating objects that would periodically swoop down and whack him over the head in stage two was harder to overlook. Still, covering his face with his arms was perfectly doable... if a bit painful.

Stage three was impossible to ignore.

“You bloody idiot, you have five seconds to hop out of bed,” his own recorded voice cried out reproachfully. “Countdown initiated.”

Al covered his eyes and groaned. He could feel the bed transfiguring, growing taller inch by inch. It would vanish at about five feet tall, which was a long way to fall, even onto a carpeted floor.

“Five...”

He opened his eyes and wondered if he could get past the wards he’d set against himself and shut the whole thing down in four seconds.

“Four...”

Attempting to outsmart himself in the present circumstances was probably too much to ask for. Also, Awake Al had had the foresight to leave his wand out of reach just in case Half-Asleep Al felt the impulse to try.

“Three…”

Not that a wandless Accio was above his touch if he were really keen but--

“Two… Come on, mate!”

_ Urgh_. 

The joyful tone to Awake Al’s voice was a bit _too _much - he should fix that.

“One…”

“Fine, fine!” Out of options, Al kicked the sheets away, grabbed his pillow and jumped out of bed right in the nick of time... just before said bed and every one of its fixings disappeared into thin air. “Eesh.”

In the spot where his bed had previously been, there was now nothing but empty floor space. The damned thing would only re-materialize at about seven p.m. which was vastly inconvenient but also infallible at keeping him from going right back in.

Al rubbed the back of his neck and cursed himself under his breath. 

A magazine swooshed low, rolled itself and attempted to whack him on the head. Al swatted it away with the back of his hand, at the same time carefully dodging a mortar and pestle that were about to bash his nose in.

“Oh, will you cut it out? I’m up already!” 

At the sound of his scolding, the yelling, shimmering orbs from stage one twitched and spun, exploding into a tiny fireworks display.

The assorted flying paraphernalia was a bit more difficult to persuade. It stopped and hovered mid-air for a few seconds as if deciding whether he was awake enough for it to cancel the airstrike and call it a day.

“Oh go on, will you?” Al glared at them. “What do you want me to do, recite the first page of Thornton’s Treatise for you?” 

That did it. Apparently convinced, the objects shuffled along back to their rightful spot, neatly tidying themselves as the room reset itself for the next morning. 

Al sighed.

He really wanted to scrap stage one and stage two as they were both becoming oh-so-incredibly annoying. 

Unfortunately, without that nasty bit of foreplay, he doubted he’d actually be awake enough to process that stage three was even happening. He really didn’t fancy waking up by falling five feet on a daily basis - not to mention the last time that he’d attempted round three on its own he’d just curled up into a ball and resumed his sleep right there anyway, which kind of beat the point. 

This particular sequence had actually been more successful than the previous ones if you took Overall Annoyance, Visible Bruises, Time To Actually Rise and Resulting Mood into consideration.

It was a marked improvement over being dropped into a conjured pool of ice-cold water. The Resulting Mood was a million times better even if Time To Actually Rise had gone to shit.

He glanced over at the timer on the wall: two hours and ten minutes total. 

Not bad. Not bad at all. It wasn’t ideal but at least he wouldn’t be late for… oh. 

Right. 

He wasn’t late at all.

Al wondered briefly if he should attempt to conjure back his bed from whatever weird pocket dimension he’d banished it to, only to dismiss the option as soon as his eyes gleaned the time on the clock. It was five a.m. and he wasn’t about to spend the next three hours fighting a second round of his alarm just so he could be up in time for work.

Maybe he’d just ditch work. What was a little lie in the grand scheme of things? He wouldn’t even be lying, he’d just be extending his previous lie of ‘not feeling so well’.

In his defence, waking up in the middle of a work night to babysit his idiot best friend was mighty good of him... regardless of how long it actually had taken him to respond. 

Hopefully, by now, Scorp would be tucked back into his bed.

As he opened the door and shielded his eyes from the light, he realised he was in no such luck.

“_Why _ are you up?” Al groaned, stumbling out of his room, dragging his pillow behind him. “Why can’t you two idiots _ sleep _ like normal people?!”

A rhetorical question, if there was ever one. 

The very reason Al had placed a tripwire spell smack dab outside Scorp’s room and linked it to his alarm was because he’d predicted this might happen.

Scorp was crouching down on the floor in the middle of the living room, fully dressed, a heavy wooden box laying in front of him.

“What are you _ doing_, mate?” Al asked in a gentler tone, coming closer and crouching down next to him, wrapping an arm around Scorp’s shoulders and giving them an affectionate squeeze. “It’s five a.m.”

“Trying to figure out if they’re broken or just offended,” Scorp replied, his eyes never leaving the box. At the sound of his voice, it gave a few violent kicks in his general direction and Scorp placed a soothing hand on top of it that did absolutely nothing to subdue the shaking. “Their hearing is fine, apparently.”

The box gave a series of kicks as if to signal its protest.

Scorp gingerly snapped the lid of the box open and Al dropped his arm from his shoulder, staring at the set of Bludgers inside with mild interest. One of them was doing its absolute best to free itself from the clasps holding it down. The other one was just lying listlessly, shaking itself every few seconds like it had developed a nasty tic.

You didn’t need to be an expert to know that was odd behaviour for a Bludger.

You also didn’t need to be an expert to know that checking out his Bludgers in the middle of the living room at five a.m. was odd behaviour for a Scorpius.

“How long has it been since you’ve taken them out for a spin?” Al asked, tickling the inert Bludger with a finger. There was no reaction from it, though the one next to it went absolutely wild with murderous intent. “Want me to take a look at them?”

In the morning, of course, not at five bloody a.m. 

“There’s nothing I’d like better... but I can’t sleep and I’ve run out of things to do.”

There was a defensive tone to his voice. For the first time since he’d gotten to the living room, Al took a _ good _look around.

There was a faint whiff of lavender in the air and now that his brain had finally woken up, he noted that there weren’t traces of any _living_, no mugs, no papers, no nothing. Even the damned pillows had been fluffed and Rose’s notes and books were aligned into small, even piles.

Merlin, she was going to be livid.

“Have you been stress-cleaning again?” Al asked accusingly. “I thought we’d talked about this.”

“No,” Scorp said, sniffing indignantly. His gaze met Al’s and a rueful half-smile grew on his lips. “Fine, _ maybe_.”

“You could’ve at least stress-baked,” Al grumbled, pulling himself to his feet. “I’d rather wake up to cupcakes than _this_... whatever _ this _is.”

He tossed his pillow onto the nearest couch and stretched his arms over his head. There was no way he’d be able to actually go back to sleep now. 

“We’re out of flour,” Scorp shrugged. “This was the next best thing.”

_ ‘Out of flour’_.

_ Eesh_.

“So what was the plan here?” Al asked, letting himself fall down on the nearest couch and hugging his pillow tightly to his chest. “Were you going to take them for a spin now? At five a.m.?”

“Oh, I don’t _know_,” Scorp replied irritably, slamming the Bludger box shut. “I don’t recall the last time I found myself up at five in the morning without a damned job.” He paused for a few seconds and set the box carefully against a side table. “What do _you _propose I do with myself instead? Go back to sleep, is it? Ignore the fact that when I wake up in an hour I’ll have absolutely _ nothing _ to do?”

“Scorp, you’ve barely been out of a job for twelve hours,” Al said calmly. “Plenty of people--”

“Oh, great. Now you’re going to tell me that ‘plenty of people don’t have jobs’?” Scorp shook his head. “That’s helpful, thank you, really, for the insight you’re providing into this world of unemployment which you have obviously experienced first hand.” 

The last time he’d seen Scorp looking so distressed was back when the N.E.W.T.s had been owled home and Scorp had realised his Potions grade wasn’t an Outstanding as they’d all assumed, but an Exceeds Expectations.

“Scorp, you’re panicking.” It was ungodly just how much Al wanted to laugh at that particular moment. He struggled to keep a straight face rather than outright mock his best friend as nature demanded. “And as entertaining as this is to watch, I’d like you to take a deep breath and sit the fuck down.”

“I’m not _ panicking_.” Scorp rolled his eyes - but he did sit down, even if only to prove that he was in fact as collected as he claimed to be.

“Listening to the voice of reason for once, that’s a good lad,” Al said, tossing the pillow he’d been holding in Scorp’s general direction. “Now talk me through this: if I suddenly got kicked out of Gringotts, what should I do?”

“You’d _never _get kicked from Gringotts,” Scorp scoffed without a moment’s hesitation. “Everyone at Gringotts and their mothers would trade their first-borns for you.”

Damn right they would.

“Entertain the hypothetical for a while,” Al said, leaning back against the couch, and closing his eyes with a shadow of a smile on his face. “I’m out of a job. What do I do?”

“That’s a shitty example mate.” Al couldn’t see Scorp’s face, but he was pretty sure he was scowling. “You could just owl the Curse-Breaking Department in the Ministry and they’d pretty much hire you on the spot.”

“How’s it different then?” Al opened his eyes to throw a side glance at Scorp. “I’m good, you’re good. What Teams have shit Beaters? Or what teams have old, ready-to-retire Beaters, at least?”

“Other than Puddlemere and the Magpies?”

“_Obviously_.”

Al opened one of his eyes to peer at Scorp: he was still anxiously fiddling his thumbs, but there was something about his demeanour that was slowly changing.

“The Beating scene is surprisingly good this year if I’m honest,” Scorp said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Not a lot of truly crummy Beaters out there.”

Al gave himself a mental pat on the back. Now to drive the point home.

“Indulge me. Which ones?”

“The Arrows are fine, they have Harper and Collins and they’ll still last a few good years. The Bats could be doing better but--”

The nerd was actually going at it alphabetically.

“Spare me the ones who are fine,” Al said, waving his hand dismissively. “Just get me the ones who could use an improvement on the Beater front.”

“There’s… well, the Cannons, but that goes without saying, they could use an improvement on _every _front. The Kestrels, the Catapults and the Wasps have ageing players, though they’re not _bad _per se. Pride definitely needs new Beaters, but they already have two new green players. I haven’t seen them play yet, but they could turn out to be spectacular.”

“Better than you?”

“Heavens, no,” Scorp scoffed disdainfully. “The Falcons were looking a while ago and they found Paris and Kenna, but from what I’ve heard they haven’t gelled with the rest of the team. Same for the Harpies, but--”

“You’re more of a girl than some of their players, it’s always worth a shot,” Al said, lazily stretching out his arm over the back of the couch and resting his cheek on it. “What else you got?”

“There’s the Tornadoes, I guess…?”

“So we have Bats, Cannons, Pride of Portree, Falcons, Harpies and Tornadoes.”

“Probably scratch the Cannons and the Harpies,” Scorp said, rolling his eyes. “First because they’re shit and second because… well, they’re not shit, but the odds of them hiring me are even slimmer than the odds the Cannons have of _ ever _ winning the Cup.”

“None then.”

“_Nil_.”

“How very sexist.”

“It’s not sexist, it’s _ tradition_.”

Al chuckled lightly. “And your penis would break tradition, is it?”

“Still, there’s a few options,” Scorp continued, ignoring him with all the self-possession of one who thought dick jokes were beneath him. “You think James or Holly would be willing to look into it for me?”

He was looking excited now. Al could see the little boxes in Scorp’s brain slowly shuffling themselves into order. A little more of this and he’d be fine... and Al could go back to his warm bed. Or Scorp’s bed, since he doubted he could conjure his back from whatever pocket dimension he’d sent it to. 

“All you need to do is ask. James will be thrilled, you know how fond he is of talking shit about Quidditch Players. He’ll tear a couple of Beaters to shreds and they’ll thank him for it. And Holly’s a peach, she’ll write an article about you that’ll make every heart in Britain reach out to you in… er... _ sympathy_.”

“I don’t want pity,” Scorp protested. “I just--” 

“You misheard me,” Al replied, a small smirk curling his lips. “When I said sympathy, I meant every single Witch Weekly reader will want to shag you.”

Scorp’s face scrunched into a scowl. “Really?”

“It’s what she does best.” Al shrugged. “Why do you think people like the Arrows so much?”

Because Holly and her silver tongue kept playing them up to be the best thing that had happened to Britain since… _ ever_, really.

“Will I have to give her an interview?” A strained groan escaped Scorp’s lips. “That sounds ghastly.”

Of course, Scorpius was the only person in Britain who would balk at the idea of having _fans_.

“Oh, you’ll hate it but it’ll do you a world of good.”

_ Dolt_.

“My parents told me they’d get me an interview at Olyphant’s,” Scorp said, leaning back with feigned casualness. “So that is a thing.”

Al’s eyes snapped open at the word ‘Olyphant’s’.

“_The _ Olyphant’s?”

A bitter smirk curled Scorp’s lips. “The one and the same.”

After Hogwarts, Scorp would have killed for one of two things: an internship at Olyphant’s Potion Emporium or a Beater position at Puddlemere. Unfortunately, his shit Potions N.E.W.T. hadn’t allowed him to pursue the former and the latter had only materialised a few months too late. 

That was how he’d found himself pushing paperwork at the Ministry in a soul-sucking job that had rid him of any political ambitions he might have entertained at one point - though Al sincerely doubted Scorp ever had any ambitions of the sort.

And now here he was, with Olyphant’s being all but handed to him on a silver platter.

“Is that something you’d like to do?”

Rhetoric seemed to be his M.O. today. 

Of _course, _Scorp would like to do it, he just needed to reach that brilliant conclusion himself and possibly rid himself of any pesky scruples that told him that using his contacts was ‘wrong’. 

“Maybe…?” Scorp leaned back against the couch and stared at the ceiling. “I haven't actually brewed anything since…"

It wasn’t uncertainty, more of a neutral statement. Scorp didn’t _do _uncertainty about himself and his skills. Albus for one was glad he wouldn’t have to actually reassure Scorp about his potioneering prowess or lack thereof - mostly because Al himself had only passed his Potions N.E.W.T. by the skin of his teeth and with a _ lot _of help from Rose. 

"The Everburning Amortentia candles, yes."

Scorp said, yawning. “I’m not going to lie, it’d be brilliant. But if they refused me out of Hogwarts when I was at my best, they’re probably not going to--”

“You _idiot_,” said a voice that belonged to neither of them.

Al’s eyes shifted to the doorway where Rose was standing, leaning against the wall. Her hair was impossibly tousled and she was wearing her pyjamas.

“How long have you been lurking there?” Al asked, lowering his legs from the couch to make room for her. “Up already or not asleep yet?”

He didn’t bother asking her if they’d woken her. The spell on her room was a masterpiece the likes of which he would probably never achieve again. He’d poured his all into it, stacking spells upon spells together to make sure _nothing _would disturb her, synchronized and entwined in a harmonious arcane symphony. 

There was the milder version of Bewitched Sleep involving principles of aromatherapy that would promote good rest, there was the Soothing Spell that had taken him weeks of tinkering to get dialled down to _just _the right level, there was the soundproofing with sound notes of her parents’ house, there was that Comforting Aura that had been a bitch to get just right, there was that Feng-Shui spell he’d gotten from one of his mates at Gringotts…

No, they couldn’t possibly have woken her. Which meant she was up for the same reason as Al - because she was concerned and didn’t want Scorp to have to get up and face this Brave New World all on his own.

“Up already,” Rose specified, walking toward the couch and letting herself fall down on the space between the two of them. She pinched Al’s pillow from his grasp and hugged it tightly against her chest. “And long enough. I was going to leave you two nitwits to it, but then Scorp started that nonsense about them not taking him when he was in his potioneering prime…”

“And you decided that calling him an idiot was a great way to join the chat,” Al said, shaking his head and affectionately ruffling his cousin’s hair. “Why’s he an idiot? Apart from his regular, run-of-the-mill, existential idiocy, of course.”

“The only reason they didn’t hire you were your stupid N.E.W.T.s, which you’d have to retake anyway since they’ve expired by now.” Rose leaned back against the couch and gave Scorp’s shoulder a condescending pat. “And this time we can make sure you get a panel of examiners who aren't garbage.”

“They weren’t _all _garbage,” Scorp said, rolling his eyes. “It was only the Arithmancy and Charms ones, the rest of them were fine.”

Rose scoffed. “Just because the Arithmancy teacher was the only one who was openly hostile and Al was only there to witness the absolute calamity that was your Charms N.E.W.T, that doesn’t mean--” 

She seemed to collect herself and awkwardly stopped mid-sentence. 

“What, Rosie dear?” Al asked sweetly, lips curled into a small smile. “What _ doesn’t _that mean?” 

She glared over at him, lips pursed into a thin line. He knew exactly what it meant and he also knew that she didn’t want to say it. 

He also knew that Scorp needed to hear it.

Throwing your best friend under the bus to help your other best friend was as good a plan as any. 

“Fine,” Rose hissed between gritted teeth. “You want me to get into that?”

“Yes, I think it’ll be productive.”

“What will be productive?” Scorp asked, eyes shifting between the two of them. 

The facts of the matter were simple: after the N.E.W.T. results had arrived, Al had kicked up a fuss so grand that Scorp had finally agreed to retake the N.E.W.T.s he’d so obviously been robbed at. 

The Charms exam had obviously been a debacle to anyone with two eyes. Al hadn’t actually sat for Arithmancy, but had heard from reliable sources that it had been an absolute carnage.

Scorp had succumbed to his indignant scolds and retaken the damned practical portion of the test. The end result had been that his Acceptable in Charms had been bumped up to an Exceeds Expectations and the outrageous Poor he’d gotten in Advanced Arithmancy had somehow morphed into an Outstanding. 

Now, Al had been quite pleased with the end result… for a while.

A few months after that, Rose had let slip a comment in passing that had led him to think that the harm was perhaps more insidiously widespread than just Charms and Arithmancy - specifically, in Potions. 

“You’re such a damned pest sometimes,” Rose said, shaking her head and smacking a pillow against his face. “What good is it now?”

Al snatched the pillow from her hands and smacked her in return.

“_Tell _ the bloke!”

“How about you mind your own damn business?”

Scorp’s pale hand got in the middle of the scuffle and plucked the pillow away from their grasp.

“You two need to stop bickering,” he said, placing the pillow behind his head and resting back against it. “I don’t even know if I want to do it.”

“Scorp, you just said it’d be brilliant,” Al groaned. “You wanted it so bad--”

“That was four years ago. Can you even imagine going back to taking _ tests_?” He glanced over at Rose and a small smile curled his lips. “No offence.”

“None taken,” Rose said, shaking her head. She seemed to have relaxed by now, which was unfortunate because Al really, really wanted her to let the cat out of the bag. “I can always help you study if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“Would you?”

Al sighed. 

Rose barely had the time to study herself, much less tutor Scorpius - who didn’t even _need _her help studying Potions, of all things - and yet here she was, taking yet another weight onto her frail shoulders.

She’d never learn.

“Sure,” Rose said, a slight edge to her voice. “Are you going to be a pest about it?”

War flashbacks of the three of them stuck in a study classroom flickered through Al’s mind, making him shudder. This was a terrible idea if there ever was one.

“Me?” Scorp’s look was all innocence as his fingers tugged one of her curls. “When have I ever been anything but an absolute delight?”

Albus groaned. Why, oh why, was he stuck in the middle of this awkward, weird, pathetic, slow-burn of a _ thing_?

“I take back my offer, you can study on your own,” Rose huffed, smacking his hand away and getting up to her feet. “What’s that anyway?” 

Al followed Rose’s gaze and a grin curled his lips. The bludger box had been kicking its way to the couch ever since they’d moved, like an _extremely _slow predator. 

“Scorp’s Balls,” he replied, immediately getting struck with a pillow for his troubles. He held it tight on his lap and fended off Scorp’s attempts to steal it from him. “He keeps them locked up so he doesn’t accidentally _ use _ them.”

Rose stepped aside, eyeing the box warily. The box stopped for a few seconds, then shifted its trajectory, this time clearly aiming for the moving target.

“I think they like you,” Albus continued, letting go of the pillow and consequently sending Scorp - who had been tug-of-warring it with him - crashing back against the couch. “Look at them go.”

Scorp let out a series of nasty expletives, his face an obvious shade of red. 

Next to him, Rose was glaring at him, her cheeks _also _tinted pink.

In a stroke of (not-so-rare) genius, Albus took in the picture before him and made one of his famous gut calls. 

“Now _ I’m _going to bed,” he said, forcing a yawn. “I take it you two ninnies aren’t going back to sleep, so I’ll be taking whichever of your beds is most comfortable for the next, say, three to five hours?”

When he brushed past Rose, he pulled her aside and whispered, “He’s your problem now. I strongly advise taking him for a spin.”

“He’s not a dog, Al, he doesn’t need to be walked.”

“No,” Al agreed, nodding gravely. “He’s a depressed Quidditch Player.”

“You don’t mean _ flying_?” Rose whispered back, her eyes wide with panic. “With a _ broom_?”

“He’s been cooped up with you for two weeks without slamming a Bludger _ once_.” He eyed the Bludger box thoughtfully: if there was one thing that could pull Scorpius Malfoy from his sullens, it was a good session of physical violence. “Think of it as therapeutic batting. I’d take him myself, but I’m knackered.”

“But…” She looked downright terrified. “You know I can’t--”

It’d have been too much to expect careless, foot-on-the-face Rose to stick around for long.

What a shame.

“You don’t need to fly yourself,” he assured her, lying through his teeth like a lying liar. “Take your magical notes, just… be there for him.”

And fine, he wasn’t really knackered and no, Scorpius didn’t look _too _depressed… but somehow, it seemed like a good idea.

The best part? It didn’t require him to do any actual work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who actually read these... Chapter 21 is already written out and proofed, but Chapter 20 isn't. Hopefully, my muse stays alive long enough that I can write Chapter 20 and then post them both in a relatively short while. Also, I posted a companion piece to Witch Slap called 'Just Carry The Squiggle' from their Hogwarts days. It should shed some light on why Al thinks it's a horrible, horrible idea for Scorp and Rose to study together.
> 
> Next chapter should be cute tho in a "why is he so close and why are my feet so far from the ground" sort of way :D After that there's going to be a time skip to ch.21, which happens about a month later (wait, is this the chapter where we finally meet Kate Towler? :O), and after that, we'll be right back on track. Hopefully...? 
> 
> *shrug* I honestly don't know anymore. The Witch Slap characters will do whatever it is they want to do and all of us will just get dragged along for the ride. 
> 
> As usual, kudos, comments and other assorted forms of validation are appreciated.
> 
> This last chapter was brought to you by just.a.willow.tree from HPFT who reviewed the hell out of Witch Slap in the past week and basically CPR'd my muse back to life with caps lock and kind words!


	20. No Thank You, I Fancy Not Dying

**January 11th, 2028 - 6am**

Yellow lights painted the surroundings in eerie orange hues. Billowing clouds of tinted fog wafted over the pitch, shifting in an agonizingly slow fashion. The night was still and the world was silent... apart from the occasional sound of a bat connecting with a hissing Bludger.

_ Thunk_.

_ Whoosh_.

Trust Scorpius Malfoy to ruin any poetic musings about the scenario.

_ Thunk_.

_ Whoosh_.

_ Thunk. _

At least he looked like he was having fun.

Rose let herself back fall onto the damp grass, her eyes still following to the madman flying against the orange sky. Every once in a while he’d swoosh low, a manic grin on his face as his feet kissed the grass before soaring right back up until he was nothing but a tiny black dot.

Had she ever seen him fly?

She supposed she had, back in the day. Looking at him now, however, she realised she had never _seen _him fly. 

If Scorp was catty on the ground, he was cattier in the sky. Graceful, adaptable, reactive.

Beautiful.

Daring.

_ Different_.

It was an odd development to chew on, the fact that there was this whole side of him that she’d never met. It wasn’t just the flying either. It was the cooking, the cleaning, the… _ everything_.

What had she been looking at for ten years?

Worse still, what else _hadn’t _she been seeing?

She clutched her notes to her chest and closed her eyes, turtling into the billion sizes too large sweater she’d pinched from him. She wasn’t actually sure if she’d pinched it or if he’d offered, she just knew that she was wearing it and that she was never taking it off again.

Why were men’s clothes so infinitely warmer and more comfortable than women’s? She was half-sure this one had a heating spell sewed into it, it was probably the only thing keeping her from freezing to death.

None of her sweaters was either as comfortable or _comforting_.

_ Whoosh_.

_ Thunk_.

_ Whoosh_.

_ Thunk_.

That last ‘thunk’ had felt far too close.

Rose opened her eyes to see a dishevelled Scorpius Malfoy peering down at her, floppy-haired, wild-eyed, the very picture of childish contentment. He had laid down his broom but the bat was still in his hand and he was leaning against it in a way that could almost be described as carefree.

“Alright, Weasley?”

There was a grin on his face as he crouched down next to her, his arms casually draped over his knees.

“Alright, Malfoy,” she replied, ignoring the obvious correlation between her increased heartbeat and his smile. “You done?”

_ Whoosh_.

“Not nearly.” He got back up to his feet and carelessly swung his bat at the incoming bludger, sending it reeling back into the sky. “Just checking up on you.”

There was a thin film of sweat on his forehead and his usual ease had returned.

“I’d compliment your batting, but for all I know you could be rubbish.”

“I’m _definitely _not rubbish,” Scorp said smugly. “By all means compliment away.”

It was as if his soul had gotten a massage.

Therapeutic batting indeed. 

Rose snorted. “I know sod all about Quidditch so I’m just going to _ pretend _ I believe you and then ask my dad about it sometime.”

“You get your Quidditch opinions from your dad?” Scorp had crouched again and was caught between a frown and the obvious urge to laugh. “The diehard Chudley Cannons fan? That seems... misguided.”

“That’s _ my _ team you’re insulting, thank you very much.”

She’d never felt less offended in her life. It was difficult to be mad at a guy who kept smiling down at you like heaven was a place on earth and you were an integral part of it.

“You cheer for the _ Cannons_?”

“Yep.”

_ Whoosh_.

_ Thunk_.

“I’m sorry, are we talking about the same Cannons?” Scorp shook his head with the delighted look of a Slytherin who had unearthed a dirty, dirty little secret. “The ones who haven’t won a game in--”

Ever. Yes.

“What can I say, I like an underdog,” Rose replied, stretching her arms over her head, her fingers playing with a nearby tuft of grass. “I like the idea that they’re historically the very worst of the worst. I feel like that’s an accomplishment in its own right.”

“_No_.” Scorpius laughed. “That’s _ indoctrination _ if I’ve ever seen it.”

Rose stifled a laugh of her own. “Says the man who came out of the womb wearing Puddlemere merch.”

Scorp’s smile fell so hard and so fast that it practically dug a hole in the ground… and Rose was left wishing she could hide in it.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean--”

“It’s fine.”

But clearly, it wasn’t ‘fine’. The air had shifted, heaven had dissolved into bleak reality and Scorp’s posture was taut like a wire that was close to snapping all over again.

So much for therapy.

Rose got back up to her feet and took her sweet time wiping the dirt off her jeans while she gathered her scattered thoughts.

What was she doing? What was the plan here? Was she going to--

_ Whoooooooo-- _

The sound sent her brain reeling just as her eyes registered the Bludger fast incoming. 

Move. 

Move. 

_ Now! _

_ Shhhhhhhhh-- _

Rose found herself rooted to the spot, her panicked commands not quite reaching her limbs.

_ Thunk_.

The impact never came and, rather than getting her face bashed in as she expected, Rose realised she was pressed against something warm and soft and not-at-all Bludger-like. 

Her heart was still hammering in her throat as the arm around her slackened. When her brain finally regained the ability to process thought, she opened a single eye to discover that the warm, soft thing her back was currently being held against was a chest. 

A very fine chest. Scorp’s chest, to be precise.

Oh, wow, Penny was right: he _was _fit. 

Wait, why was she shocked? Of course he was fit, she’d seen him naked, for crying out loud! She _knew _he was fit!

But had she _cared..._? How had she _not _cared...?

She was caring now, very much so. She was also noticing that up close his jaw was--

And then the jaw stepped away, throwing a bucket of cold water over any considerations she was planning on making about it.

“If you’re going to stand,” Scorp said calmly, as if dodging _death _were the most normal thing in the world, “I’m going to move the hell away from you. That or we can just leave.”

“_No_.”

“What do you mean ‘_no_’?” Scorp’s eyebrows shot upwards. “It’s just going to keep coming back, that’s how Bludgers work.”

‘_No_’, don't let her go.

‘_No_’, going away was a terrible idea.

‘_No_’, this was nice and she was happy.

That was what '_no_' meant.

Fortunately by then her brain circuits had managed to somehow realign themselves into something resembling normalcy, which was a shame. Normalcy was apparently bleak and boring and completely devoid of Scorpius Malfoy's arms around her. 

“I meant ‘_no_’ we don’t need to leave,” she said, collapsing back to the ground and clutching her notes with an unsteady hand. “The goal of this was for you to get some batting done."

“I’m good.”

"Oh really?" Rose let herself fall onto her back, crossed her arms behind her head and glared at him in all her I'm-Not-Moving glory.

"Really."

“Two seconds ago you said you weren’t nearly done,” she said, her tone accusing. “You go back to your silly batting and I'll go back to my miracle notes.”

Then the world might make some sense again.

“Well yes, I was having fun. But now...”

“Now you’re not anymore?” 

All because of some stupid comment?

Scorp rolled his eyes, threw his bat to the side and flicked the open case next to him with his foot.

_ Whoooooosh_.

Before she could protest, he’d already caught the Bludger and slammed it shut into the box.

“That was...” Rose braced herself on one of her arms to look at him. “You didn’t need to--”

“You're right, I didn’t need to,” he deadpanned, letting himself fall back next to her on the grass. “Are you quite done beating yourself up? Or do you need a minute? I have a bat you can borrow if you want to do some real damage.”

Her eyebrows shot upwards and he shook his head.

“Merlin, you _are _an idiot,” he said, rolling onto his side to look at her. “Yes, I was having fun, and yes, you single-handedly ruined it. How _ dare _ you?”

There was nothing reproachful about his tone whatsoever. If anything, he sounded like he was poking fun at her.

Also, Morgana, he was close. He was so very close and he seemed to be completely oblivious to the fact that he was about to give her a heart attack.

“I already said I was sorry,” she mumbled, leaning a little backwards in a desperate attempt to put some room between them. “It was misguided and--”

“It was a joke, Rose,” he said, tugging a rogue curl that had been dangling (rather annoyingly) in front of her eyes and tossing it aside. “Just a joke.”

It was extremely difficult to produce coherent thought when the bloke you fancied seemed to get a kick out of playing with your hair. 

Fancied? 

_ Oh, Merlin_.

Rose sat back up, her eyes wide and her heart beating erratically.

Oh god, she did, didn’t she? Not just as a Boredom Crush either, was it?

_ Shit_. 

Shit, shit, shitty, shit, shit.

_ Shit. _

Rose awkwardly turned away from him, aware that her face was either beet red or had already exploded.

Oh, Merlin.

“Alright, Weasley...?”

“Alright, Malfoy.” Rose was sure that she’d never spewed a bigger lie. “If you’re not going back to batting, we should go home. It’s freezing out.”

She was proud of herself and the fact that her voice didn’t betray the screaming that was happening inside her head.

“You’re _cold_? That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

His voice practically oozed disbelief. It was also not stationary and was clearly moving closer until its owner finally popped back into her peripheral view. As if his closeness and his shoulder against hers weren’t enough to send every one of her senses into overdrive, a cold hand reached out to find her own.

That was when her heart _really _gave out.

“You're definitely not cold," he said, in an accusing and detestably unfazed tone. "If anything _ I _ am."

He seemed to think this was perfectly normal, holding girls' hands in Quidditch pitches in the dead of night. Maybe for him it was, who knew...?

It was unreasonable, they were just _hands_. Hand holding was something teenagers fussed about and this was barely hand-holding. If anything it was hand _touching _and hand touching hardly qualified as something to fuss about.

Yet there she was, a Fourth Year Healer-In-Training... clearly fussing. 

“You're not cold, you're freezing,” she said, giving his hand a brave, experimental squeeze. “Are we trying to get an encore on the Shivers debacle?”

His hands weren’t soft, by any reasonable measure. They were hard, rough and calloused. They weren’t the sort of hands you wanted to hold, they were the sort of hands you wanted--

“Don’t act high and mighty, _ you’re _ the one who nabbed my sweater.”

Rose gently tried to extricate her hand from his before her mind really became a cesspool. 

Unfortunately, Scorp had picked that exact moment to squeeze her hand back and she really couldn’t go through with it on account of having melted into a feckless pile of goo.

Why was he so damned tactile? And how on earth did he make this feel like it was the most natural thing in the world? Like of _course _he was holding her hand, in what bizarre world _wouldn’t _he be holding her hand?

“Scorp, you have a million different sweaters,” she protested. “You have more sweaters than Al, and that’s saying something.” 

“That one’s enchanted and you damned well know it.”

Well, she had _suspected _it.

“Do you want to trade, then?”

“You really do have a death wish.” Scorp snorted, letting go of her hand and jamming his own back into his pocket. “That sweater’s probably the only thing keeping you from freezing.”

His breath was shallow, clouds of smoke coming from his mouth in the desperate cold.

“Want to go back?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

He turned to face her with a slight frown on his face. “Avoidance?” He shrugged. “Chatting with Al helped with the whole existential pit of despair, but it doesn’t fix my day-to-day. I’ll just send a bunch of letters but that won’t fill up nine hours.”

“You’re afraid of getting _ bored _?” Rose snorted. “Think of it as a holiday.”

Quoting her barista now, how hypocritical.

“Says the girl who skipped all the way to work this morning.” His brow furrowed up at her. “The only reason I didn’t go batty these two weeks was because I had _ your _ sorry arse to worry about.”

“Didn’t know you cared so much about my arse.”

What was she _doing_?!

“Every man needs a hobby.” Scorp picked at a nearby tuft of grass and sighed, a small smile curling his mouth. “Except now you and your arse won’t be around.”

“No. We won’t. Not always anyway.”

They sat in amiable silence for a few minutes, as Scorp aimlessly destroyed the poor patch of grass in front of him and Rose wondered why, oh, why she’d thought this was a good idea. Al was far more qualified to deal with this and yet there she was, out of her depth, making half-hearted jokes about her arse.

“Are you still scared of flying?” Scorp finally broke the silence, chucking a small leafy stalk at her. “I thought you’d’ve gotten over it by now.”

Not-so-smoothly changing the conversation to something personally embarrassing: what a terribly Slytherin thing to do.

“That obvious, huh?” Rose snorted, indulging the new thread. “I wonder what gave it away...?”

“I think the first clue was you almost biting my head off when I offered to lend you a broom,” Scorp said, rolling his eyes. “So I’m guessing the answer is ‘yes’, then.”

“It’s a half-hearted ‘no’.” He looked at her expectantly and she continued: “It’s not that I’m scared of flying. I’m good with the flying.” 

“What then?”

“It’s the whole 'falling at 9.8 metres per second squared and getting intimately reacquainted with the ground' that I don't fancy.”

“Let me see if I get this: you’re not scared of flying.” He lifted an eyebrow at her. “You’re scared of _ Physics_?”

“I don’t have beef with the entire field, it’s just gravity I have a problem with.” Rose shook her head and threw a bit of grass of her own at him. “Every time I’m on a broom all I can think of is ‘if I fall now, I’ll meet the ground at x meters per second’. Really takes the romance out of it.”

Scorp took a deep breath and snorted once. 

Then again. 

Then another time until he was chuckling.

“Yes, yes, mock me all you want,” Rose huffed, tearing a handful of grass and tossing it at his face. “_You _ of all people wouldn’t get it.”

Him of all people. Him, the walking contradiction of rationale and recklessness.

“No, I get it,” Scorp said, spitting out a grass blade and brushing off a series of green projectiles from his hair. “Flying’s dangerous. Every Quidditch player worth his salt knows that.”

“Then why do it at all?” She hesitated before reaching out and brushing a piece of greenery that was still lodged in his hair. “No, wait, that's the wrong question."

"Oh yes?” He tilted his head and grinned obnoxiously back. “What's the right one then?"

"Why do _ you _do it?”

"Ah." Scorp rolled his eyes. “Well I could waste my breath all I want, but you _ still _ wouldn’t get it.”

Rose sniffed disdainfully, like there were no miracles of flight she could not comprehend. “Try me,” she said, the picture of self-assurance.

His lips pressed into a thin line and he brushed his pants before pulling himself to his feet. “Get up.”

“No.” Rose’s mouth went dry and she could immediately feel her heart pounding in her throat. “No, no, no.”

“You were the one who asked.” He walked a few feet toward the discarded broom and shouted over his shoulder: “I’m just explaining!”

“I meant with _ words_, Malfoy!”

“Yes,” he cried back, laughter in his voice as he picked the broom by the handle, “but isn’t a picture worth a thousand words?”

“Then take a damned picture!” Rose firmly gripped the grass around her as Scorp stalked back, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “It’s _ not _ happening, you delusional idiot!”

Her heart was now hammering against her chest and she could feel her palms starting to sweat as Scorp crouched next to her.

“Come on,” he said, the smile never faltering. “I promise I won’t drop you.” 

He seemed to be under the misguided impression that she was going to say ‘yes’. And when he held out his hand, Rose realised… there was a dangerous chance he was right. 

Because the way her heart was hammering now? That wasn’t all due to her fear of impending doom, no. It had a lot to do with the impending doom scenario, but also… his face. And the outstretched hand. And the concept of being close enough to him that him 'dropping' her would be a possibility.

Recipe for disaster if she'd ever seen one.

“I’m not scared of you dropping me, you idiot,” she said, clearing her throat and eyeing his hand warily. “I can fall all by myself, no help required.”

Her hands bunched the grass around her as a sort of tether to sanity, to restraint, to that ground that should always be close to your feet.

“Unless you’re _ really _ keen on it, I promise I won’t let you fall.”

“Such an overabundance of confidence,” Rose said drily, her clenched fists burying themselves further into the grass. “What if I scream? Or kick? Or--”

"Or panic like a ninny like you are now? I _ still _won’t let you fall,” Scorp said gently, before finally giving up on his crouching and taking a seat next to her. “I draw the line at biting though - if you chomp on my arm I’m just chucking you off and letting nature run its bloody course.”

He sounded so… earnest. 

“You’re a pushy brat,” Rose muttered between gritted teeth. “I’ll topple the both of us over.”

“You?” Scorp snorted with disdain. “I’m a professional player and you’re lighter than a bludger, for Merlin’s sake. I think I’m capable of keeping you in check if your suicidal tendencies kick in.”

“This is a _ terrible _ idea.”

“I was the one who came up with it,” Scorp said, sniggering and holding out his hand again, “did you for one second expect it to be _ good_?”

“Terrible, terrible idea.”

“Oh, I concur,” he agreed, laughing. “It’s horrendous. What could I possibly have been thinking?”

The outstretched hand was sitting there on his knee, quietly screaming to be taken. The calloused hand that promised it wouldn’t let her fall.

Of course sometimes hands lied, as did the people they were attached to.

“You really won’t let me fall?” Rose said, hesitating before letting go of the grass she’d been clutching for dear life. “_Even _ if I bite you?”

“Depends on whether or not you do it nicely,” Scorp assured her, his entire demeanour one of seriousness and dependability. “I could be into that.”

“Oh, shut up,” Rose scolded, pressing both her hands against her temples. “You’re ruining whatever little courage I’ve managed to assemble.”

“Rose Weasley,” he said, rolling his eyes and letting himself fall on his back on the fluffy, grassy ground. He stretched his arm again and, once more, held out his hand in an overdramatic fashion, waving it right in front of her face. “I hereby swear that if I let you fall, I’ll spend the rest of my life atoning for it by way of coffee, baked goods and fresh laundry.”

“You already do all that. What else you got?”

Gingerly, she tried placing her hand on his and he immediately clasped it, sitting up, confidence renewed, obnoxious grin back with a vengeance.

Oh, good, now she'd done it.

“I could always stop doing it if it’s of so little consequence to you.”

“Blackmail, Malfoy?” Rose tried to pull her hand away and he gripped her fingers tightly right before they managed to slip from his grasp. “Isn’t that beneath you?”

“I’m flattered you would think so,” he replied happily, getting up to his feet. “Think of this as therapy.”

“Therapy for _ whom_, exactly?”

“Let’s say _ me_, shall we?” He snorted, giving her hand a 'come-hither' tug. “You’re just acting as emotional support in these trying times I’m facing. You know how desperately miserable I’m feeling, how--”

“Graduating to emotional blackmail, I see.” 

“Oh, the bleak future that nears with every passing second! If only I had _ something _ to distract myself with--”

“You’re _fine_, you Shakespearian wanker,” Rose grumbled, adjusting her hold on his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. “You just want to see me suffer.”

“That’s part of the appeal, yes,” Scorp said thoughtfully, giving her hand a tug that might’ve been misconstrued as supportive before letting go. “But I also want to show you what you’re missing by being landlocked.”

“I _ get _ it,” Rose protested, “it’s high above and the wind flowing through your hair and all that rot.” 

“Just because you’re terrible at flying that doesn’t mean that flying is terrible.”

“I’m not terrible at flying.” 

Even she was aware of how weak that sounded. 

“Beg to differ,” Scorp said, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “I was there for the debut and it’s still the hardest I’ve laughed in the past ten years.” 

A PTSD slideshow of their first year flying lessons rushed through her mind. 

“You’re not doing yourself any favours right now,” she said, glaring at him. “It’s not my fault I’m not…”

“Aerodynamically inclined...?” Scorp shook his head and clamped his heels around the bristles of the broom. It hovered an inch or two above the ground and he smiled to himself. “Fortunately for you, I am.”

She scowled again as the broom once again hovered and circled her once ever so slowly before landing in front of her. 

“And _ I’ll _be the one doing the flying. You’re just... coming along for the ride.”

"This is peer pressure,” she said, sniffing indignantly. “It’s tawdry and frankly unethical.”

"Like _ you've _ ever succumbed to peer pressure."

He said it like the very concept was absurd. Like there were no lattes and blueberry muffins she couldn't dodge, no shifts she couldn't refuse. Like being incapable of saying the word 'no' was something that happened to other people, never Rose Weasley.

"You'd be surprised.” Her words were soft, a rueful smile on her face. “I’m very, _ very _ bad at telling people to fuck off."

“You tell people to fuck off all the time.” Scorp’s eyebrows were knitted together in a display of clear disbelief. “Up until a few months ago all of our interactions were riddled with it. They still are.”

And that's when it hit her: she’d never had problems telling Scorpius Malfoy to pretty please go fuck himself.

Not once, not ever.

“Well, yes," she said glibly, in an effort to hide the fact that her brain was working a million miles an hour to process this monumental breakthrough. "But then again you hardly qualify as ‘people’.”

“I’m not sure whether I should feel insulted or not.” Scorp’s laugh was clipped. “Who are these... ‘people’ then? Most importantly, do you suppose they take membership applications?”

“You’ve never been ‘people’ and you never will be,” she said. “It’s not a bad thing, Scorp. It just means--”

It just meant that she’d felt comfortable around Scorpius Malfoy for _years_.

Except that ‘just’ wasn’t just a ‘just’, it was a massive fucking deal.

How had she never noticed it?

“It just means you’ll never care for a damned word I say, the same as you don’t care about a damned word Al does. Is that it?”

He sunk into silence, looking anywhere but her, clearly planning his exit. Kind of like that day when he’d left, sulking like a precious idiot. 

Except this time, she wasn’t about to let him.

She placed her hands on her hips and scowled fiercely at him. “Do you have any idea of how many people I can talk to like this?” 

“Well, there’s Albus--”

“Oh, no, no, no,” she interrupted, snapping her fingers when Scorpius tried to continue. “I mean people I don’t share a _ gene pool _ with!”

“From what I recall, you talk to people you don’t share a gene pool with just _fine_,” he said coldly, letting the forgotten broom fall to the ground. “In fact, you tend to be _ nicer _ to them than to the people you purportedly love and care about, which in my humble opinion, is fucking _ insane_.”

That was low and also terribly inaccurate. She wasn't 'nice', she was feeble. She was brittle and hesitant and _meek_.

Rose laughed humorlessly. “I suppose you’d rather hang out with the spineless, stuttering mess I am around the general population, then, is that it?” 

“You’re the least spineless person I know,” Scorp said, scoffing disdainfully. “You--” 

“Scorp, I can’t change my breakfast order.” Rose could feel herself colouring with anger. “I can’t tell people to sod off when they try to dump work on me. If a complete stranger offers me drugs I’ll probably fucking take them because I. Can’t. Say. ‘No’.”

He was eyeing her with a mix of disbelief and wariness, quietly waiting to see where this was going. 

_ Good_.

She tilted her chin with defiance and bit her lower lip. She could already feel tears prickling at her eyes and she gritted her teeth.

“I apologize when people bump me on the street. If I order a sandwich and they give me a salad, I’ll _ eat _ the damned salad."

She couldn't even look at him.

"I’ve had a gym membership for four years that I can’t cancel it because they’re _ nice _ and whenever I try I always end up renewing it and buying a bunch of Zumba classes that I _ know _ I’ll never fucking take!”

Damnit, she was going to cry wasn’t she?

“Scorp, the fact that I can tell you to ‘fuck off’ is nothing short of a miracle,” she spat, blinking and praying to every deity out there that he wouldn’t see the fat tear rolling down her cheek. “So don’t go around thinking things would be much easier if I rolled over and lolled my tongue.”

After a few seconds of quiet as she tried to steady herself, he finally broke the silence.

“You don’t complain when you get the wrong order?! _ Ever_?”

That was it?

“Somedays,” she said, discreetly wiping her moist cheeks with the back of her hand. “But no, most of the time I don’t.”

He was giving her an easy way out. She glanced over at him and realised he didn’t look particularly fazed about this, more… amused. Kind of like when he’d discovered she was a Cannons fan.

“You have a gym membership? _ You_?”

He had seamlessly gone back to mocking her and she was incredibly thankful to him for it.

“Showed up a grand total of five times,” she said, incapable of suppressing a small smile. “Every single one was horrible.”

“And you’ll take drugs from a stranger… but you won’t listen to a damned thing I’ll say.”

“Not as it pertains to my well-being or otherwise, no,” Rose said, shaking her head. “I like to exert my free will where I can.”

“Oh, _ Merlin_.” Scorp shook his head and brushed a hand through his hair. “Never, ever?”

“I might sometimes if it’s not something I’m particular about... but I’ll be damned if I let you bully me into doing anything I don’t strictly want to do, no.” 

“So I can’t convince you to eat more greens, then?”

“If you tell me to finish my peas, I’ll just tell you to fuck off.” Rose shrugged. “I work long hours and I barely sleep. I’m not eating any bloody peas I don’t want to eat.”

There was a pause in his rapid-fire of mocking questions and Rose took advantage of that to turn a little sideways and properly wipe her eyes. 

His next words were so soft that she almost missed them.

“So you’re here... because you _ want _ to be.”

“Yes.”

“Not because Al asked you to.”

“I’d have told him to sod off otherwise.”

There was something sunny in the smile he threw her... like spring had come a little early, just for her.

The nice moment was only ruined by the fact that his teeth were chattering like maracas and that he looked very, very cold indeed. 

And this, ladies and gentlemen, was the man-child she fancied.

Rose rolled her eyes and pulled her wand from her pocket. “_Calidum Corpus_,” she intoned, carefully waving her wand in a rounded motion.

There was a shocked look on Scorp’s face as his teeth stopped their dance. A warm glow lit his cheeks and Rose stared smugly at him as he pulled his hands from his pockets and stared at them and then back at her.

“Emergency heating spell,” she said, offering him a careless shrug as if it wasn’t one of the most finicky spells she’d learned this entire year. “You may or may not be sweating like a pig in five minutes.”

“You’re telling me I could’ve been this warm and toasty for the past hour?” 

“You ungrateful brat,” she said, meeting his indignant look with a smile. “It’s an emergency heating spell, not an ‘I’m feeling a bit nippy’ heating spell.”

“And you’re the one who gets to decide what’s an emergency I suppose,” he whined, pulling off his sweater and fanning himself with his hand. “How unfair.”

Rose had to resist the urge to fan herself too. Not because she’d caught a glimpse of his stomach and the light blonde hair trailing down to…

No, the fact that it had become a little hard to breathe was totally unrelated to Scorp’s treasure trail.

“Oh, sod off. It’s relatively difficult to cast,” she admitted, swallowing hard. “There was a small chance that it’d soft boil you instead.”

“You can’t send back a salad but you’re fine with casting spells that might--” Scorp ran his fingers through his hair. “You really _ are _ a mess.”

The way he said it, you might’ve thought it was a good thing.

“I’m sorry if I care about your well-being,” she huffed. “Next time I’ll let you freeze to death.”

“If we were flying like I’d planned,” he puffed back, “I wouldn’t be freezing in the first place.”

“Were you planning on leeching off my body heat, that it?”

“That was very much the plan, yes,” he said with a small smile. “It _ is _ my enchanted sweater, I should at least second-hand profit from it.”

“I suppose now that you’re basically melting, it’s okay if I go back to my notes, then?”

A heavy silence sneaked up on them and it was a few moments before Scorp carelessly swatted it away. 

“No, it’s not. I mean…” he said, before quickly correcting himself. “If you _ need _ to study I’d be a wanker not to let you just because I’m enjoying this.”

“This,” she repeated drily. “What exactly is ‘this’?”

An undefined ‘this’ that made her chest feel tight.

“The two of us,” he specified, like it was obvious. “Judging by how much I saw you pre-Shivers, I’m guessing we’ll go back to not seeing much of each other soon.”

He didn’t mean it the way she wanted him to mean it. And so Rose did the only thing she could do, which was to smother the resentment she felt and shrug it away. “Can’t be helped.”

“Only if you’re lacking in imagination,” he said. “I’ve half a mind to catch another horrible disease and saddle you with it.”

_ Idiot_.

“Please don’t,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not going to vanish off the face of the earth. And you’ll be around the house all the time now, so...” Her words trailed off and she grimaced. 

It was Scorp’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m not made of glass you know? You don’t need to wrap me up in cotton wool and--”

“Yes, but I’m supposed to be distracting you, not--”

“Distracting me? What in the world gave you that impression?” His eyebrows furrowed upwards. “I’m not a child, I’m not going to conveniently forget my problems just because you’re _ entertaining _ me.”

Rose’s eyebrows shot upwards. “No? But you looked--”

“What, you expected me to be a depressive shit?” Scorpius shook his head. “Merlin, you are a lovely idiot.”

“Pot meet kettle.” Rose scoffed. “So you’ve been running around--”

“Look, I already had my mental breakdown… well, _ breakdowns _earlier today. I’m not aiming for an encore,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders and giving her a light, friendly shake. “I’m _ fine_.”

Rose’s lips pursed into a thin line. “That’s what you said when you got home.”

“Yes, but back then I was obviously _lying_,” he said brilliantly. “Now I’m obviously not.”

“So you’re not terribly sad?”

“Oh no, I’m heartbroken,” he said, letting go of her shoulders and letting out a flippant laugh. “I’ve just decided I’m not going to worry about it anymore.”

He said it simply with an ironic aftertaste and that in itself was heartbreaking - because somehow Rose knew it was true. Her hand twitched, every fibre of her being itching to reach out and touch him. 

_ ‘He won’t mind it if you hug him.’ _

Al’s words rang through her brain and Rose clenched her fists. 

“Arms up, Malfoy,” she said, wondering whether she should voluntarily commit herself to a mental institution. “I’m going to hug you and you’re going to like it.” 

“I’m sure I will.” He followed her command, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Is that your solution to everything?”

“Not _everything_,” Rose replied, sniffling indignantly and hesitating before taking a decided step toward him. “But there’s nothing more I can give you.”

“You’re here now,” Scorp said gently, dropping his arms. “That’s more than enough.”

“Is it?”

“It is.”

“Not to me, it isn’t.” Rose scoffed. “I want…”

“You want...?”

What _did _she want?

To feel useful? To help? 

Instead, she turned to face the pitch, struggling to sort through her brain to distil the specific feeling.

“You know when you’re sad and someone goes and says something to you and it’s _ exactly _ what you needed to hear?”

Scorp nodded, hooking his fingers into his pockets and closing the distance between them. His bare arm was brushing against hers and just that single point of contact grounded her more than anything else in the world. 

She slipped a hand into the crook of his arm and melded into him because somehow it would be weird _not _to. 

“And your heart feels lighter,” she continued, ignoring the way her own heart was hammering in her chest, “because that’s what you wanted someone, _ anyone _ to tell you but you couldn’t ask them because that’d be silly and it’d be cheating and you’d never know if they meant it or not?”

He nodded again and this time she could’ve sworn she’d glimpsed a shadow of a smile.

“Well, I _ can’t _ give you that.” Rose sighed, her cheek resting against his arm. “But what I _ can _ do is hug you and offer you a bunch of platitudes like ‘there, there, it’ll be alright’ and ‘those assholes don’t know what they’re missing’ and maybe that’ll make it a little better.”

Scorp’s arm shook with laughter. “_Those assholes don’t know what they’re missing_?”

“Standard breakup comfort,” Rose said, shrugging, “but you’d be surprised how well it applies to other things.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Can I, then?”

“What, hug me?” 

Rose nodded into his arm. “Even if you don’t feel better, I definitely will.”

“So this is all for your benefit,” he scolded quietly, his voice dropping to a lower register that made every hair on her body stand at attention. “How terribly selfish.”

In spite of his words, he did wrap his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into his arms. And Rose Weasley, an experienced hugger, who claimed she had more hugging talent in her pinky finger than most people did in their entire body, became at a complete loss for words. Because one thing was hugging Scorpius Malfoy... but being hugged by Scorpius Malfoy was another matter entirely.

It felt familiar and somehow new.

Careless yet completely purposeful. 

Reassuring and utterly, utterly terrifying.

“But--” Rose swallowed hard, unable to say anything coherent. "You--"

What she did know was that she somehow had to extricate herself from this, to say something that would somehow remove her from whatever _this_ was, because honestly, Scorp's hugs should be banned, declared a matter of national safety.

They were a fucking health hazard. 

"Scorp..."

Just when she was about to complain, to say words, any words that would make this less intimate, less personal... he pressed his lips against her hair and whispered a mocking, “There, there, it’ll be alright,” which had the effect of shutting her up, perhaps forever.

And then, like the profound and consummate wanker that he was, he nonchalantly let her go and stretched his arms over his head. The self-satisfied smirk he was flashing her was something she hadn’t seen in a while and it made her heart sink - or swim, she wasn’t sure which. 

“You’re right,” he deadpanned. “I do feel better.”

He then bolted for his broom, leaving a speechless and completely stunned Rose behind.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only imagine Scorp screaming on his broom at the end of this chapter going "WHAT THE HELL? SHIT SHIT SHIT"
> 
> I myself was screaming the entire time I was writing it. I had to slam the laptop shut a few times going "oh god, oh god, oh god, it's HAPPENING".
> 
> I know I said there was going to be flying, but apparently I'm a liar and Rose didn't go along with it at all. 
> 
> Chapter 21 is already written and proofed (shocker, I know, I'm actually being productive for once) and I was planning on posting it in another two weeks. Maybe. Probably. 
> 
> Is it better if I post it now and you guys get two chapters and then spend a month with nothing or should I post it in two weeks and then the next one in a month? Hmmmmmmm. 
> 
> Anyway, lemme know what you thought of this. Is it everything you wanted? Is it good or is it good?
> 
> (Next chapter we meet dun dun dunnnn Kate Towler) 
> 
> Special thanks to RonsGirlFriday and justawillowtree for being the BEST cheerleaders a trash fanfic writer could have! If you haven't yet, you should check out their writing, they are INCREDIBLY talented!


	21. The Perfect Dress

**February 18th, 2028 - 8am**

“So, is this it?” Scorp cocked his eyebrows as he watched the girl he once thought he was going to marry come out of the dressing room. “The ‘_One_’?” He watched her glide around the room in a white wedding gown, tight-ish at the waist and then falling down to her feet. “The ‘_Perfect_’ dress?”

The tinge of sarcasm that seeped into his words had more to do with the fact that he’d been roped into this rather than some misguided sense of jealousy or regret. Sitting on that undersized pink chair while surrounded by frills and lace wasn’t his idea of a brilliant Sunday morning.

And yet, here he was.

To be fair, it was better than sitting around the house wondering what the hell to do with himself.

"What do you think?” The former girl of his dreams, all blue eyes, rosy cheeks and soft curls, grabbed the skirt of the dress in one hand and gave a twirl for him to examine it. “Is it hideous?”

“Quite so. Dreadful indeed,” he replied, chuckling as Kate turned around scowling fiercely. “What were you _ thinking_?”

“Don’t be a snot-nosed brat, Scorp,” she scolded, giving her reflection in the mirror a pleased look and her brown curls a small tug. “I’m fishing for compliments here and I’d better get some.”

“You know you look lovely, dearest.” Scorpius tilted his head to the side and gave her a critical once over. “I’m just wondering what on earth I’m doing here. I remember making plans for breakfast, not dress fittings at eight a.m. It’s still dark out for Merlin’s sake!”

“You refused to come pick it out with us and are therefore the only one who hadn’t seen it yet.” Scorp could think of no torture worse than picking out wedding dresses with Kate and her possy of chicken friends. This was only second to worst. Kate stood sideways and examined her profile, eyebrows furrowing. “Does it make me look fat?”

Scorpius rolled his eyes: Kate had never, not once in her life, seriously wondered whether she looked fat.

“Like a tub of _ lard_.”

“Oh, shut up.” Their eyes met in the mirror and she smiled in that dimpled way that had once made him swoon. “I _ do _ look terrific, don’t I?”

Honestly, what had fifteen-year-old Scorpius been thinking? Better yet, what had sixteen, seventeen and eighteen-year-old Scorpius been thinking?

“If you just needed someone to say ‘yes, dear’, you could’ve just brought the poor sap you’ve convinced to marry you.” Scorpius shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You needn’t drag _ me _ into this.”

“Yes, but there’s something rather cathartic about sticking it to the guy who repeatedly dumped me during my teen years.”

He’d have felt guilty, only he didn’t. Neither did she for that matter.

“And anyway you were the one who demanded solo time,” she continued, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle. “This was the only slot I had.”

Oh yes, the frenzied social life of his former flame. He’d rather douse himself in alcohol and light himself on fire with an Inferno spell on steroids rather than have to deal with her endless parade of friends and acquaintances. 

Forget torture and mass slaughter, the sentence ‘you should join us’ was and would always be the highest crime committed against humanity. The only acceptable answer to it was “no”, or just disgusted silence and mutinous staring at the person until they left. 

Unfortunately, Kate wasn’t of the same opinion.

At least at eight in the morning, he might have some respite from casual street encounters and subsequent invitations.

“Is it too much to ask to see my best friend without having to put up with every Tom, Dick and Harry in London?”

“I’m not your best friend, I’m your only friend,” Kate corrected laughing as she sat down next to him, ruffling his blonde hair. “Of the female variety at least.”

Well, technically that wasn’t true. But also, it technically was. 

Rose Weasley was his friend, but also... not. Not in the purest sense of the word anyway.

“Which makes you my best female friend by default.” Scorpius looked over at Kate in all her bridal splendour and held out his hand for her to hold. “Which is why I feel like I should ask: _ are _you happy? Because you just say the word and I’ll help you plan your Great Escape.”

“Is that why you were so keen on seeing me? Of course I am.” She placed a dainty hand in his and squeezed it with a smile. “I know you’re under the misguided impression that I still pine for you on a daily basis, but I can assure you that there are indeed other perfectly acceptable men out there.”

“Keyword being ‘acceptable’.”

“Well, _ you _wouldn’t give me the time of day so I had to settle for someone who is infinitely better than you in every possible way... It’s sad, really.” She let go of his hand and got up, bunching the skirt of her dress and taking a few steps towards the dressing room. She hesitated and stopped before going in, her hand resting on the curtain. “I love him, Scorp. I really, _ really _do.”

One did wonder _why_. Jules, the walking potato she was marrying, had a waist the diameter of Piccadilly Square and thinning hair on the back of his head. 

He’d seen the man once in his life, at one of the said occasions when Kate had You-Should-Join-Us’d him. That had been back when they had just started dating, a mere six months ago. He’d struck Scorp as an agreeable sort of fellow, but not someone worthy of Kate Towler.

To be fair, _no one _would ever be worthy of Kate Towler.

The six months bit was part of the reason he wasn’t very confident in this whole situation. What if the bloke turned out to be a complete and utter wanker? What did she know about him, really, other than the fact that he was filthy rich? Plus, they were ridiculously young, it was outrageous.

“Are you sure? This isn’t just about—”

“The money?” Kate scowled and gave a bitter laugh. “You really think I’d marry someone just because of _ that_?”

“Well, I don’t get why else you would. He’s struck me as—”

“Kind? Smart? Funny? The kind of person who lights up any room he is in and who actually makes people feel really _ good _about themselves?”

Well, now he’d done it. She looked pissed off.

“Unlike me, who lunches on newborns and dines on puppies, you mean?”

“If the shoe fits.” Kate threw him one last glare before she walked into the dressing room, emphatically closing the curtain behind her. “You only met him once and he was perfectly charming. You, on the other hand, were an absolute... _ prat_.”

Oh dear, now he’d done it.

“I was _not_! I was unfailingly polite and you know it!”

“You behaved awfully and _ you _ know it!” Kate’s indignant face peeked out of the dressing room, a hand firmly holding the curtain around her. “All those comments about how you feel guilty if you don’t go to the gym when you haven’t worked out a day in your life!”

“Hey, I exercise!” 

“For a job that you love, not because you _have _to. If I recall correctly you got fairly pudgy during that Ministry stint of yours.” 

Ah, yes, Kate didn’t know about his unemployment. Or better yet, she probably did know - it was the sort of thing she _would _know - and she wasn’t mentioning it until he did. 

Which wasn’t going to happen because he was tired of talking about it. For one day, he just wanted to pretend he wasn’t knee-deep in free time and with no prospects of ever being occupied again.

“I did _ not_!” Scorp sniffed indignantly, treading carefully around the landmine. “I was never pudgy,” he added under his breath. “certainly not like that Squishy McSquisherson you claim to be in love with.”

Fortunately, Kate’s head had just gone back into the dressing room and she hadn’t heard. 

“Merlin and that stupid, _ idiotic _ ‘good for you’ you gave him about his diet. I’ve never been more mortified in my _ life_!”

“He was trying so hard, I couldn’t stand it. You know I hate brown-nosing!”

“He wasn’t brown-nosing.” Kate walked out of the dressing room wearing her usual clothes, white dress hanging limply from her arm. “He was being nice!”

“He was being a try-hard, people-pleaser—”

“Usually he isn’t. He doesn’t _need _to be. But you_, _ oh!, _ you_!” She stuck an accusing finger to his chest. “You always have to make it so difficult, don’t you?”

She opened the door of the room and carefully handed the dress over to the lady who owned the place as they exited to the front part of the dress shop, unimaginatively named ‘Dresses For Everyone’.

Judging by the larcenous price tags he’d glimpsed, a more accurate name for it would have been ‘Dresses For Everyone... But Not Just Anyone’. 

“Thank you, it’s absolutely beautiful. And thanks for squeezing us in this early Mrs Johnson!”

Kate was pointedly ignoring him as she spoke to the owner, a grey-haired woman of an impossible-to-discern age. She was either in her early fifties or late nineties, Scorp couldn’t really tell.

“Anything for you dear!”

“Did you get that tax business sorted out alright? I can call a few people if you need me to...”

He could feel her seething under the kindness and genuine smiles that she was offering the unknown woman, who, from what he gathered from the conversation, had three grandchildren and another one on the way. She was also apparently invited to the wedding and had a standing invitation at Kate’s house for tea.

“Let’s go. Bye now! Call me when the shoes arrive will you?” Kate looked into her purse as they walked out of the shop into the cold streets and fiddled until she found her clock. “Oh good, it’s still early. I’m still not done with you. Breakfast?”

“Sure. Would you rather lecture me on my sins over _ actual _ breakfast or just tea would be fine?” 

“Let’s go for some actual breakfast, I’m starving,” she replied with a shudder as she lined the pockets of her robes with her hands. “Do you have anything to do after this?”

Scorp rolled his eyes. Other than going home and overthinking the reasons why he still hadn’t received any replies from the Falcons, Pride of Portree or the Tornadoes, along with half a dozen other teams, no, he didn’t have anything else to do.

“Not a thing. I’m all yours.”

“Oh, joy,” she said, her teeth chattering. “How lucky of me.”

Yes, she knew. She was doing a fine job of pretending she didn’t, but she knew alright.

“Lucky and freezing,” he sighed, removing his scarf and handing it out to her. “Here.”

“Merlin, you _are _a cretin,” she replied, testily accepting the scarf he was holding and wrapping it around her neck. “You didn’t even say ‘good morning’ or ‘goodbye’ to Mrs Johnson but here you are doling out scarves like it’s bloody Christmas.”

“Should I not dole out scarves?”

“You should, of course,” she said, tucking her hand into his arm and pulling him toward the Lower End of Diagon Alley. “Come on, I know just the place.”

“Will it be owned by a dear friend of yours, who you’ll feel the need to invite to breakfast with us?”

“Yes, but she won’t be joining us. I feel like that would spoil the abuse I’m about to put you through.”

They walked in companionable silence for a bit before Scorpius finally couldn’t take any more of her ever-so-obvious state of numbing cold. 

“You’re shivering. Wouldn’t you rather just Apparate there?” Scorpius looked over at her and she shook her head. The look of sheer aversion she threw him was enough to dissuade him from any other attempts at convincing her. “You should really see a Healer dear, it’s not normal.”

“It’s not physical,” Kate repeated, for the millionth time, “I just _ hate _ the feeling of it.” 

“I still think it’s some unresolved childhood trauma of yours.”

“I really don’t know how you people can stand it, it’s like voluntarily having your stomach pulled through your mouth and then inserted back in through the back end.”

“Ugh, the imagery.”

“Don’t think I’m forgetting about you being a prat,” she added, slipping a hand into his pocket. “I’m just too cold to be angry.”

He held it in his own, fingers instinctively lacing with hers.

Natural.

Indifferent even.

Nothing like...

_No._

Scorp shook himself and Kate lifted an eyebrow at him. "You alright?"

_'Alright, Malfoy?'_

"Yeah. I'm fine," he lied. "Just cold."

_'Alright, Weasley.'_

Playing with fire, that's what he was.

"Hurry up then," she scolded. "I swear, it's like once you learned to Apparate you forgot how to walk."

Scorp scoffed and picked the pace. Kate kept dragging him through the grey, unknown streets, into unknown weird alleyways that he’d never seen before until they finally reached their destination. 

It was a small coffee shop with a bold sign saying ‘Brenda’s’. The smell of freshly baked goods wafted down the street like a magical bubble of warmth and comfort in the middle of the desolate winter. 

Brenda was apparently the owner, a stout, American woman. She had a red, pleasant face and immediately ushered them down to the table closest to the crackling fire just before pouring them a cup of tea.

“I like her,” he commented, warming his hands around his cup. “She’s quiet.”

“I thought you might.” Kate was smiling now, her robes and belongings bundled up in one of the spare seats. “She’s just opened and business hasn’t been picking up.” 

Apart from them and the smiling Brenda, who had retreated to the kitchen, the place was completely empty. It was a nice sort of place, a bit rustic, but quiet. Small bunches of wildflowers adorned the tables over impeccably pressed red and white checkered tablecloths.

“How did you even _ find _ this?”

“Met her on the train when I was coming back from visiting Aunt Glenda.” Kate smiled affectionately at the door from where the muffled humming of a cheery song could be heard. “She and I got to chatting and we became fast friends.”

This beautifully surmised the way Kate dealt with everyone. He wouldn’t be surprised if Kate had invited Brenda to the upcoming wedding a mere two minutes after meeting her. It was one of the things he both hated and loved about her.

Brenda peered into the room from the kitchen, still humming her merry tune, and floated two trays with scones and jams and assorted food of the breakfast variety over to them. 

“Tell me if someone walks in, will you?”

“You got it, love,” Kate said with a smile.

And just like that Brenda was gone.

She was quickly becoming a favourite with him. He was tempted to switch his routine to fit this quiet, comfortable little place.

“Now,” Kate said, picking a scone and slathering it with butter in the confident manner that only people blessed with an impressive metabolism have, “back to you being a prat.”

“I think we’ve been through this before, dear.”

“Well, yes,” she retorted amiably, taking a bite from the scone and chewing thoughtfully. “But I’m now fast approaching the point where I’m convinced you’ll die friendless and alone.”

“What,” Scorpius snorted, picking up a fork and stabbing a piece of bacon with it, “when you’re a married lady you won’t talk to me anymore, is that it?”

“No dear, but the last time I saw you was what, two months ago?”

“Through no fault of my own,” he protested indignantly. “I tried--”

“Yes, you tried to make plans, but you know I have a million other people who I need to spend time with,” she complained, examining the jam jars with a critical look before deciding on a blackcurrant, which she generously spooned onto a piece of toast. “If you didn’t insist on this ridiculous binary friendship, I’d see you far more often.”

“Just because you stockpile friends like they’re about to run out it doesn’t mean _ I _ should have to put up with them.”

“I know you claim to be picky—”

“Whereas you’ll take anyone who smiles at you off the street.” 

“-- but in reality, you’re just really diminishing your chances of finding people who will tolerate you in a few years’ time.”

“You _ do _know you’re not my only friend, right?”

“Out of a grand total of what, three? Four?” she continued, raising a hand to cover her mouth as she chewed, which he appreciated thoroughly. “Charlie’s abroad, Kate’s busy and Al is going to find someone someday and kick you out. Then what?” 

“Rose and I will make a Pathetic and Alone club and live together until we die.”

The thought was far more appealing than it should be.

Kate almost choked on the tea she’d been inhaling. “You and Rose Weasley?” She took a few seconds to compose herself and then let out a delicate snort. “Yeah, _ right_, when pigs have wings.” 

The most beautiful thing about his and Kate’s friendship was that, no matter how much time passed, they were always able to talk as if they saw each other every single day. The odd thing was that sometimes enough time passed that regular, run-of-the-mill, day-to-day things became grand news.

His unlikely friendship with the lovely red-headed basket case was one such thing.

“Yes. Rose.” He stared back at Kate with a hint of a smile on his face. “Weasley.”

“What?” She threw him an incredulous look, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “The same Rose Weasley you incessantly pestered throughout our Hogwarts years claiming she was a… what was it… ‘stuck-up, entitled shrew’?”

Trust bloody Kate to remember everything he’d ever said to her, _ ever_.

In a way, it was completely absurd. He didn’t know how far up his rear his head had been, but there was nothing stuck-up about Rose, far from it. 

She was nothing like he’d expected and he loved her for it.

“Yes.”

“The same Rose Weasley whom - despite readily admitting was smart, funny and easy on the eyes - you once swore you could never tolerate for more than five seconds? _ That _Rose Weasley?!”

“You _ do _know I’m living with her, right?”

“Of course I know!” Kate had apparently forgotten all about the food she had been ravenously inhaling up to this point. “I’d just assumed there’d be a lot of screaming and shouting and infantile name-calling, not that you’d become...”

She seemed to struggle with the word, still shell-shocked.

“_Friends_?” he offered, the smile on his face growing to obnoxious proportions. “Yes.”

Kate slumped back against her seat and stared at him for a few seconds with furrowed eyebrows, her lips pursed into a thin line.

“I don’t believe you,” she finally managed to spit out. “_Really_?”

“How is this so shocking?” He could feel his cheeks warming under her gaze. “I’m broadening my horizons, wasn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

She was still examining him with a funny sort of look on her face, as if she were trying to figure out something. 

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

Merlin save him from Kate Towler and her terribly insightful looks. 

“Oh, nothing,” she said, picking up her teacup and shaking her head with an amused look. “I’m just wondering whether I should be proud or concerned.”

“You don’t think we could be friends?”

How dare she. 

Hmph.

“I _ do_. In fact, I spent the past seven to ten years trying to convince you to give her the time of day. She’s exactly the kind of person you’d like, but would you listen? _ No_.” She punctuated the sentence by giving his foot a small kick. “Don’t mistake me, I’m really glad you saw sense. Maybe you’re finally growing out of that persistent hatred you have for mankind, who knows?”

Scorpius felt a small burst of anger at the accusation.

“I don’t hate mankind,” he retorted smugly. “I just—”

“Yes, yes, I know, you’re ‘picky’. Still doesn’t give you the right to be a prat to everyone you don’t consider ‘worth it’.” She lifted a single hand and air quoted both words, with a disapproving look on her pretty face. “You’re an amazing friend Scorp, but if you focused a millionth of the energy and affection you give to the people you love and bothered to say ‘good morning’ to people you don’t care about, you’d have far more friends.”

“But thinking about it, do I _ really _need more friends?” Scorpius lifted the cup of tea and took a sip, a small smile on his face. “Also people don’t really give two shits about whether or not I tell them ‘good morning’. They just instantly forget I didn’t.”

“Well, _ I _ haven’t forgotten about the way you treated Jules,” she claimed, sticking her nose up at him and for a single second he felt like the lowliest worm in the whole wide world. Being stared down by Kate Towler tended to have that effect on him. “Shame on you.” 

He’d say he was sorry, but he really wasn’t. Why should he care?

“Just because you think you’re hot stuff it doesn’t give you the right to treat people like dirt. You did the same thing to every single one of the blokes I dated.”

Bloody Kate, revisiting past grievances. He didn’t give a flying toss about the offended boyfriends, his only issue with this was that she’d never mentioned it before. 

“Did I?” His eyes met hers and her blue gaze softened a bit. “I don’t remember. You should’ve told me--”

“I know you don’t remember. You don’t care either.” Kate leaned over the table and gave his hand a small tug. “But _ I _ do. The boyfriends really didn’t care about whether or not you were a prat. But I did. I still do.”

“What for?”

“Picture it for a second,” she pleaded, her fingers entwining with his. “Your new… _ friend _ Rose Weasley walks in right now and I make fun of her, oh, I don’t know, _ hair_. How the hell would that make you feel?”

“Well--” 

“Or bother her about the fact that she’s been single forever, or that her clothes look naff, or that she looks like she hasn’t slept in days or—”

Like his Grandmother had. He could feel his cheeks burning red at the thought. 

Her blue gaze softened and she got up from her seat to sit on the empty chair next to him.

“Precisely my point. But _ you’ve _ done it a million times.”

He looked at her for a few seconds, neither saying a word. 

“But you never said anything!” He finally cracked. “You need to tell me this sort of thing.”

“I didn’t, but I probably _should _have. Every time you meet one of my friends, they _like _you. Even with the stupid sideswipes and the way you turn your nose up at them, they _like _you. You’re interesting, you’re polite, you ask questions and you know how to make conversation.” 

Kate paused, her lips a thin line, and shook her head. 

“On the surface, you’re a really nice person. But I come out of every single one of those encounters liking you just a _ little _ less.”

Scorp could feel the colour draining from his face. “Again, you need to _tell me_, I’m not a mindreader! Come on Kate, it’s not a big deal--”

He tried to pass it off, dismiss it, change the conversation at any cost to something lighter. Her hair, her dress, whatever it was, anything but this.

She’d have none of it. Her scowl vanished and she leaned into him, but there was no doubt in his mind that this particular conversation was far from over. 

“Scorp, I love you. You know I always have and always will,” she interrupted, grabbing his arm with her hand and giving it a small tug. “But I’ve known you for ten years and you’re still the same snooty brat who made Ally Mendez cry on the train on the first day of school.”

“I don’t make people cry. Well, not _ anymore _ at least.”

To be fair, Alyssa Mendez was a rather poor example, considering Rose’s unfortunate break-up story and the fact that he’d be perfectly okay with making bloody Alyssa Mendez cry again.

“No, but you still thrive on making people feel bad about themselves,” she replied, taking a piece of toast from his plate and taking a bite. “If you don’t develop a little empathy, the Rose Weasleys of this world won’t last long.”

Rose Weasley was another poor example. She needed all the friends she could get and it wasn’t like--

“She may not have many friends but that doesn’t mean she needs you _specifically_,” Kate scolded and his eyebrows shot upwards. “If you’re under the misguided impression that she’ll put up with you forever just because she feels lonely, you have another thing coming.”

“How did—” 

Was she Legillimensing him? 

“Oh, come on, Scorp, I’ve known you for more than half my life,” she groaned impatiently, grabbing his arm and shaking him a bit. “My point is Rose Weasley may be as socially allergic as you are, but it’s different for her.” Apparently feeling he no longer needed physical comfort, Kate got up and took back her seat in front of him. “She’s just awkward so she avoids people, whereas you...” She shook her head in that horribly compassionate way and sighed. “You’re just _mean _sometimes. For bloody sport, which is even worse.”

Scorpius found himself fidgeting uncomfortably on his seat. Cretin and prat he could take. But ‘mean’? The word evoked childhood bullies. It was such a small word and yet...

“One of these days, you’re going to be mean to someone _ she _cares about.” She paused and picked up the kettle, pouring another cup of tea for herself. “And, unlike me, Rose wasn’t in love with you for five years and then your friend for five more, so she’ll be less likely to forgive and forget.” 

Her meaning was slowly dawning on him. 

“Not to mention that temper of hers.” She sighed, taking her wand from her pocket and pointing it at her cup. “You’re awfully quiet.” She flicked it once and then gave it a small flourish. The cup started steaming again and she leaned back with a contented sigh. “Have you tuned out?”

“I was just thinking about what you said before.” He paused and leaned back himself, cup of tea in hand. “About me hurting you when I was a wanker to your boyfriend.”

Kate scoffed. “Trust that to be the only thing you got from this entire conversation.”

“Well, fine. I don’t think I’ll start enthusiastically greeting cashiers, but I’ll try... _ try_, mind you... to be less… 'mean'.”

It was such a childish word. And yet when she’d said it he’d felt almost touched.

“You’re not horrid, Scorp,” she said, tilting her head to the side and grinning at him. “But your only friends in the whole wide world are your soon-to-be-married ex-girlfriend, a bloke who spends ninety-five percent of his year deployed Merlin knows where, a woman you stumble upon accidentally about twice a year and a man who will hopefully meet someone else and move on with his life.”

“And now Rose Weasley.”

“An awkward people-pleaser with crippling social anxiety, yes, she fits right in.” Kate let out a delicate snort. “For someone who claims to be picky, you have an appalling taste.”

“I thought you liked Rose,” he scowled. “You _ did _ invite her to your wedding.”

Not that Kate was particular, she’d apparently invited the whole of London. Then again she did _like _everyone so the logic was still sound. 

“I do like her, she’s a lovely human being. It’s just odd that after all these years you two would become friends.” 

“Tell me about it.”

“How did it happen?”

“A lot of screaming was involved. And tea.”

“That does sound like your M.O. Is she still at St. Mungo’s?”

“Yes.” Scorpius shook his head. “Never eats and never sleeps.”

“Is that _ concern _ I hear?” Kate teased, laughing heartily. “My, my, my Scorp, you really _ do _ like her!”

Damnit, he was doing a terrible job at this.

“She’s… Well...” Scorpius found himself struggling for any neutral words to describe Rose, his cheeks flushing with colour. “She’s just… She’s...” He finally gave up. “I _ do _like her. She’s a perfect mess.”

‘Perfect mess’ sounded about right, though ‘like’ was perhaps not an accurate word for what it was.

“Fun thing about people is they usually are different than what we thought they’d be,” Kate replied condescendingly, as she stuffed her mouth full of bacon and eggs. She chewed for a few minutes with an amused expression on her face before swallowing and continuing: “One of these days you’re going to realise that most people, once you get to know them, are actually pretty okay.”

“I’ve gotten to know plenty of people and most turned out to be perfect wankers,” he pointed out.

“If you’re talking about your ‘friends’ back at Hogwarts it’s not really a good example. Teenagers are awful. But most of them _ did _grow up into fine people.”

“Oh Merlin, please tell me you haven’t invited them to your wedding,” he groaned, helplessly rubbing his forehead. “I was hoping never to see Yaxley or Zabini again.”

In fact, he’d made it a point never to see Yaxley or Zabini again and so far he’d succeeded. 

Urgh. Trust Kate to invite _everyone_.

“Of course I have,” she replied, smiling sweetly at him. “They’re my friends. One of the perks of marrying a filthy rich and perfectly amiable man is that I don’t have to pick and choose, I can just have _ everyone _ there.”

Their gazes met for a second and Scorpius couldn’t help wonder if at any point in their on-again, off-again relationship she had ever smiled like _that _because of him.

Probably not.

“You really do love the bloke, don’t you?”

“And if you had bothered to know him rather than act like a cretin, you would too,” she beamed, a self-satisfied look on her face. “Now tell me more about your newly acquired friend!”

He did just so and, throughout the conversation, the peculiar look that he’d seen on her face returned. 

“What?”

“Nothing.” She had a thoroughly tickled look on her face. “In retrospect, it’s obvious isn’t it?”

Oh, Merlin, she knew. Of _course _ she knew.

Scorp tried to sound nonplussed. “What’s obvious?”

“You _ hated _ her.”

His eyebrows furrowed upwards. “And?”

“Scorp, you complained about her on a semi-daily basis.” She leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. “It was Rose Weasley said this, Rose Weasley did that.”

“_And_?” He managed a scoff, but his heart wasn’t in it. Instead, it had become uncomfortably lodged in his throat. “I complain about plenty of people.”

“No, Scorp, you really don’t.” she said, shaking her head. “The moment they’re out of your sight you forget they _ exist_.”

Trust Kate to hit the nail on the head in the most roundabout way possible. Her eyes met his with a mix of pity and amusement and Scorp rolled his eyes.

Yes, he was terribly aware that he’d never been indifferent to Rose Weasley.

Rose, on the other hand, had always been painfully, hopelessly indifferent to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I posted this so late, RL kind of got in the way!
> 
> 1\. To all the people who were dreading Kate... how did that go for you? XD
> 
> 2\. One of my friends wrote "NO SCORP, NO. YOU'VE NEVER BEEN INDIFFERENT TO HER AND SHE'S ALWAYS BEEN COMFORTABLE WITH YOU. TOGETHER YOU MAKE A PERFECT MESS. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD." and I'm like... "yep, you managed to sum up this entire story, thanks mate".
> 
> Thanks to the usual suspects for all the amazing reviews! I'll probably reply to them tomorrow because it's darned late and my dog will eat me if I don't take him for his walkies.
> 
> Good night everyone and have a great week!


	22. Copious Amounts Of Bullsh*t

**March 12, 9h30**

_ Cogito, ergo sum_.

I think, therefore I am.

There was a great deal of activity happening in the grey matter upstairs, synapses shooting and wheels turning with frenzied eagerness. However, the more days passed and the more time trickled through his helpless fingers… the less he _ felt _like he existed.

In Scorp’s humble opinion, Descartes didn’t know what the fuck he was on about. 

“Floo check today at three,” Al said, sashaying into the living room with the abominable smugness of the happily employed. “Oh, and could you maybe sort through the laundry? I can’t find my black shirt anywhere.”

Ah yes, anger with the teeniest pinch of guilt, the quintessential cocktail of unemployment, served on the rocks with a self-hatred chaser. 

Scorp looked up from the book he was pretending to read and glared at Albus. “You’re just assuming I’ll be around, then?”

The answer was obvious: he was _ always _ around. 

The sheer presumption of it was still galling. He had a life! He might not have a job, but he still had options. He could do... _ things _ if he chose! Not to mention--

“You’re going somewhere?” Al deadpanned, eyebrows shooting upwards. “_Really_?”

_ Motherf-- _

“No,” Scorp said, taking a deep breath to stop himself from throwing _ Discourse on The Method _ at Al’s head. “I’ll be here.”

Forever. Until the end of times or he died of ennui, whichever came first.

“And the shirt...?”

The sound of a book thunking against Al’s forehead wasn’t as satisfying as that of a Bludger against a bat, but it was still pretty damned cathartic.

“You’re in a mood today,” Al commented, getting down to pick up the book and frowning at the cover. “Descartes? Existentialist bullshit this early in the morning? That can’t be good for you.”

At another distant point in his life, nine a.m. would hardly have constituted as ‘early’. 

Fine, distant might be an overstatement - it had barely been two months - but time passed differently when one had nothing to do and nowhere to be. Days of the week tangled themselves together into a blob so unremarkable that you couldn’t tell Monday from Friday or your head from your arse. 

“Sod off,” Scorp snapped, jumping up to his feet and snatching Descartes and his existentialist bullshit from Al’s hands. “I’m educating myself.”

“Merlin knows you need it,” Al commented, blithely Accioing his jacket from the coat rack. “How’s the job hunting?”

Brutus had nothing on Albus Fucking Potter.

“I’m drowning in excellent opportunities,” Scorp said, motioning to his pyjamas and scowling. “Can’t you tell?”

“Something will turn up,” Al said, wrapping his arm around Scorp’s shoulders and squeezing them affectionately. “You’ll see.”

Merlin, he wanted to scream.

Scorp struggled out from under his best friend’s arm and grimaced. “It’s been two months.”

“It’s _ only _ been two months,” Al corrected, a hand reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Two months is nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

“Deep.” Scorp let himself fall back onto his seat on the couch, the one that now had his butt print permanently embedded on it from constant exposure. “You could write a book on existentialist bullshit yourself.”

Al rolled his eyes. “I’m going to ignore that.”

“Oh, just… bugger off,” Scorp said, dismissively opening his book and struggling to keep his growing frustration in check. “Aren’t you late?” 

Silence filled the room and, after a few seconds of pretending to be uninterested, Scorp finally looked up. 

“Flexible hours,” Al said, smiling sweetly. “I only need to get in at ten.”

Up until this point, Al had never flexed his hours. Now he was sneaking loitering into his daily routine, sticking around for _ just _ a few extra minutes every day because he was _ concerned _ about him.

_ Urgh_.

“I’m _fine_,” Scorp snapped, all bark and all bite. “Go away.”

He was aware of the loneliness already creeping up, wrapping itself around him. Every single moment that Al stayed back only delayed the inevitable and made it all the fucking harder to cope. 

“You could come to lunch with me,” Al said tentatively, in that careful tone he used when he was trying not to be offensive and that was somehow more offensive than the actual offence. “You look like you could use some fresh air.”

Understatement of the century. 

Lunch was fine and dandy, but what was he going to do after? Hang out in the park? Window shop? Roam aimlessly around the streets of London, _ alone_?

“I’ve been out,” he replied superciliously, flicking an unread page with unnecessary force. “It’s overrated.”

He’d been there, he’d done that. It did nothing to soothe the gnawing heartache that he felt every morning when Rose and Al left for work, like he was some sort of abandoned puppy just waiting for his humans to come back. 

It _ hurt_. 

It wasn’t so much boredom - that too, but one could fill in the boredom with semi-incomprehensible, pedantic books. It was just… loneliness. Pure loneliness, like he needed someone to validate that he did still in fact exist. 

Free time opened the door to any number of considerations about himself and the world that he’d never welcomed and never needed. Yet here they were, nagging at the back of his heart, slowly chipping away at his sanity.

If he sighed in a living room and no one was around to hear it, did it really make a sound?

He _ hated _ it.

Just when he thought Al was finally leaving, the dark-haired boy stopped, hesitantly hovering over the threshold of the fireplace. “I don’t usually ask you because it’s fucking pointless and you always say 'no'… but Yards and I were thinking of going out tonight.” 

Hopefully, if he stood very quietly and didn’t breathe, Al wouldn’t actually ask and--

“Do you want to come with?”

Scorp’s eyes met Al’s and he scowled. His restlessness outweighed his obvious antipathy towards the proposed activity. 

“Sure,” Scorp said, gritting his teeth. “Why not?”

**March 12, 15h00**

Mrs Leatherby, the nutbag in ward five, needed her boils drained soon or they’d explode. Mr Marshall, who insisted on her calling him Doug even though he was seventy years her senior, was getting discharged today at noon. 

Shit, she still needed to add the fact that Edith Mills was allergic to level five Transfiguration Spells to her chart. Hopefully no one else had tried to de-compress her leg yet. Not to mention that now she had to figure out how to--

“There’s a spot available for an internship with the Greenland Disease Control expedition,” Choi commented off-handedly as he handed her a patient chart for Brynn Cox. “A lot of traipsing through fjords and combing through data from the Aurora Borealis.”

“Mhmmm,” Rose agreed blankly, her mind a million miles away as she flicked the pages on the file. “Definitely.”

Oh, right, Brynn was the toddler in aisle eight who’d been striking terror into the heart of Pediatrics for the past five days. 

Who the hell had prescribed a Salving Solution for the kid’s Gnomish Fever? No wonder he was climbing up and down the walls. 

She needed to--

“It would be equivalent to, say, a Research Project.”

“Hmmm.”

Of course it had been Penny. Penny wouldn’t know her Salving from her Salting. 

“And obviously the weather for this Quidditch Season debut is remarkable,” Choi continued. “The Falcons are bound to make an early start, wouldn’t you say?”

“I’m not sure, you know they predicted rain for--” Her brain was jolted back into awareness, shock rippling through her at the sheer inanity of her words. “Beg your pardon, _ what_?!”

Rose’s eyes shifted from the chart in front of her to Choi’s lined face. There was something terribly wrong with it, something so terrifying, so bizarre that she was convinced Armageddon was ready to befall them any second now.

Choi was _ smiling. _

“Curious.” He seemed to be enjoying a singularly pleasant joke at her expense. “I didn’t expect you of all people to follow Quidditch.”

“I don’t,” she said, eyeing him warily. “My… my flatmate does.”

‘Following’ seemed like the wrong word for what it was. ‘Obsessing’ and ‘brooding’ would've been more accurate.

“The Greenland internship.” Choi waved a dismissive hand at her, the smile so entirely bleached from his face that Rose was left wondering if she’d imagined it. “Are you interested?”

“Oh. _ Oh_,” Rose stuttered back. An experienced rescue team would have trouble recovering her eyebrows, which she suspected had become irredeemably lost in the recesses of her hairline. “Wait, for _ me_?!”

“You’re the only Fourth Year who hasn’t submitted a proposal yet.” The look Choi threw her could have frozen over a dragon’s breath. “I wrote you a recommendation and Healer Houghton remembers you from that rotation you did in Edinburgh with him.”

Healer Houghton remembered who she was?! 

_ The _ Healer Houghton?

“I’m… I… I don’t know what to say.”

What she did know was that her hands had become more lubricated than the Giant Squid and that her heart had grown three sizes larger. 

Was this what pride felt like? How unfamiliar. How… _ terrifying_.

“Fortunately for you, it’s multiple choice,” Choi said dryly. “The only two options are ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

She could feel her three sizes too large heart thumping in her chest, panic nestling into it and choking it with its slimy tendrils.

“I… uh… Do I have to decide _ now_?”

“Obviously not, but I’ll need an answer within the next two weeks.” Choi had a distinct look of distaste in his wrinkled face. “I’m persuaded you’d do well.” 

Sympathetic mentor was clearly not a part that came naturally to Healer Choi and yet, somehow, in his own brusque way… Rose could've sworn he was _ trying_.

“Would this be on top of everything else or--”

“The whole convoy will be allocated to Kangerlussuaq for a year. I doubt you’d have the chance to do any real Healing in the interim. Nonetheless, I daresay it would _glam up your resume_.”

His utter scorn at the words was patent.

“How would I get to Kanger... Kangergloss...”

She couldn’t even say the name of the place! What in the world made Choi think she was remotely qualified to join a prestigious, international study in the middle of fucking Kanger… Kanger… in the middle of fucking _ Greenland?_! 

She didn’t know a word of… Greenlandian? Greenlandish? What in the world did they speak over in Greenland? 

“Kangerlussuaq,” Choi remarked acerbically. “If you’re asking if you can commute, the answer is ‘no’.”

He said it like it was obvious and Rose’s heart fell to her feet. 

A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity had just miraculously fallen on her lap and here she was thinking about _ nothing _ issues like how… _ cold _ Greenland was. And how she’d miss her family and her friends and, oddly, St. Mungo’s and--

What was _ wrong _with her? 

_ Say ‘yes’. _

_ Just say ‘yes’. _

“Why me?” 

The moment the words had left her mouth, Rose would have gladly given her right kidney to take them back. 

_ Shit_.

“The world is chock-full of bumbling idiots, Miss Weasley.” Choi was now regaling her with that look of contempt that was the bane of every Healer-In-Training in the building. “The only difference between you and the rest is that they’re better at pretending they’ve got it all figured out.”

“I…” Her heart fell to her feet, the word ‘idiot’ still echoing in the deepest chasms of her insecurity. “I’m…”

_ Merlin, please don’t let her cry, please don’t let her cry... _

“I propose you instead ask ‘why not you?’,” Choi said, his tone softening ever-so-slightly. “It’s a far easier question.”

_ What? _

“Ummm...”

What was she waiting for? What else was she supposed to do? She still wasn’t any closer to figuring out what she was going to do for her research project. She didn’t know what speciality to pursue and--

Why not her indeed?

This would fix it. 

This would fix _ everything_.

_ Say ‘yes’. _

She wouldn’t need to leech off of Mercedes and Penny. 

_ Say ‘yes’. _

She’d be working alongside a few of the most brilliant minds in the Healing world. 

_ Say. ‘Yes’. _

“Sleep on it, Miss Weasley.” Choi was still glaring at her as if she’d just subjected him to a surprise colonoscopy. “If you feel like it’s something you’d be interested in--”

_ SAY ‘YES’! _

“No, that’s fine.” Rose took a deep breath, her shaking hands turning white as she gripped the clipboard. “I’ll go.” 

Like an elastic band snapping back into place, Rose suddenly felt her entire world shifting and rearranging itself until everything made sense. 

It was the only reasonable course of action. 

It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and random nobodies who were struggling to keep up had no business passing up once-in-a-lifetime opportunities.

“Are you sure? You have until--”

“I’m sure,” Rose said, straightening herself up and meeting Choi’s eye. “I want it.”

**March 12, 21h00**

The Firecracker was unusually packed tonight. Pen, Jesse and her had been coming here at least once a month ever since they’d accidentally stumbled upon it in their third year. It boasted a quiet mood, passable fries, cheap booze and wildly attractive staff. 

The real draw, however, was the fact that it was on the other side of town, far from St. Mungo’s and therefore unlikely to be frequented by anyone who worked there. 

Though her attendance had been admittedly slim during the past months, there had been a time when these nights out had been the one thing keeping her sane.

“He _ didn’t _ say that,” Jesse cried, pushing his glasses further up his nose. His usual milquetoast countenance was red, almost as red as hers… which might be accounted for by the fact that he was slightly squiffy. “We work our asses off--”

“Damn right we work our _ asses off_!” Rose slurred in agreement. “And he _ did_. He called me an idiot. I think he called the whole world an idiot, but I was _ included_.”

Fine, Jesse wasn’t the only one who was slightly squiffy. 

“I’d gladly snap my wand for Choi to call me an idiot,” Penny said laughing. “It’s the old lemon’s way of showing affection.”

Unlike her and Jesse, Penny seemed to have exactly two drunk stages: perfectly normal or passed out on the floor and right now she was indulging in the former.

“He called me an _ idiot_,” Rose protested. “An _ idiot_, Pen!”

“He did. _ Lovingly,_” Penny added, tugging at Rose’s sleeve with a smile. “And anyway, what does it _ matter_?”

“It matters, my dear Penny,” Jesse said pedantically, “because _ some of us _ depend on external validation to survive.”

“Yes, and Rose just _ got _ some!” Penny rolled her eyes and downed her shot. She licked her lips thoughtfully and shook her head. “She got offered a position that Fifth Years were drooling all over--”

“They were _ not_.” Rose picked up her shot glass and grimaced before swallowing the whole thing. “_Urghhhhh_.”

The alcohol trailed fire down her throat and to her navel and Rose felt the small kick of the firewhiskey as it threatened to make its way right back up.

“Sauvage would cry if he knew,” Penny said, shaking her head. “He’s been trying to get back on Choi’s good graces for months now.”

“I feel tempted to tell him,” Jesse said, grimacing as he twirled his shot glass at eye level. “Rub it in a bit.”

“You would never,” Penny laughed. “You’re too _ nice_.”

“Right now I would!”

“Yes, but I don’t think showing up pissed at St. Mungo’s just to torment Sauvage would be in your best interest,” Rose said consolingly, closing her eyes and willing her stomach to settle down. “Come morning you’d Avada yourself.”

"Win-win situation, then," Penny said wryly, shaking her head. "I fully support you, Boot."

“He’s such a wanker,” Jesse grumbled. “Urgh, I need something stronger.”

“Already?” Penny’s hand affectionately went out to ruffle his hair. “You might want to pace yourself, mate. I don’t intend to sleep at mine tonight, so if you need someone to drag your sorry arse home--”

Rose smacked Penny’s hand away, angling her chair so she could better shield the wincing Jesse from her. Unlike her, he wasn’t particularly comfortable with Pen’s opprobrious disregard for personal space.

“Shit day in Artefacts,” she said, lifting an eyebrow at Penny. “Go easy on him.”

“Wand up the bum?” Penny stopped trying to ruffle Jesse’s hair and instead eyed him with hungry curiosity. “_Classic_.”

“Not up the bum” Jesse said, wincing and slanting a meaningful glance in the direction of his nethers. “This guy shoved it up his… you know.”

Jesse was now white as a sheet, which wasn’t unusual. He was the sort of delicate person who didn’t think the human body was a beautiful thing. He was still a fine Healer, patient and kind… he was just sensitive to certain things, like the thought of objects stuck up various orifices.

“Dick?” Pen, who suffered no such compunctions, was laughing like a maniac. “And all I ever get are people with their heads stuck in cauldrons.”

“Tried to charm it out, too,” Rose said, patting Jesse’s back reassuringly. “Seeing as his wand was otherwise engaged… well, let’s just say it didn’t go too well.”

“I swear,” Penny pouted, “you people get all the fun patients.”

“You alright?” Rose kept rubbing Jesse’s, trying to comfort him from the horror show he was apparently reliving. “Need a glass of water or something?”

“I’m fine,” he replied, shaking his head and grabbing his shot glass. “At least I will be. I just need a hundred more of these to make me forget today ever happened.”

He put on a brave face and smiled thinly in a way that was fooling no one.

“Rough day?” Nick, The Dishy Bartender, a solid-looking bloke in his late twenties smiled at her as he balanced a tray of empty glasses on his hand. “Someone throw up on you again?”

“Hmmm,” Rose said, lowering her eyes to her drink with a small nervous smile. “He’ll start crying.”

She had absolutely no doubt that her cheeks were burning as red as her hair.

“Could you bring over something stronger, Nick?” Penny brazenly winked at Nick, who didn’t look particularly frazzled by the attention. “Boot needs a little anaesthesia, stat.”

“Sure thing, Pen.” 

He was an oddity if you considered the way guys tripped all over themselves whenever Pen so much as breathed in their general direction. Instead, he was ignoring her entirely and looking directly at Rose.

Rose swallowed and averted her eyes again.

Pen lowered her voice and gave a low whistle when he walked away, her eyes firmly locked to his backside. “Speaking of bums...”

“Starting early, today, are we?” Jesse asked, shaking his head. “Can’t you wait, say... five more drinks? I’m still too sober for this.” 

“I would,” Penny agreed solemnly, “but the bloke only has eyes for Rose.”

“Yeah, right,” Rose snorted, trying to sound indifferent and failing miserably. “Your bloody pocket-lint cleans up better than me.”

Just today they’d been approached two times already by the bravest and boldest among the Firecracker clientele, wondering if they could join them. On a usual night, it was no less than five. 

Before midnight, Penny would send them packing, claiming she was ‘hanging out with her friends’. 

After midnight, however... all bets were off.

“Oh, _ shut up_.” Pen snorted disdainfully. “He fancies _ you_, always has. Barely even notices _ me_, and that’s saying something.”

She looked genuinely put out by it. Rose’s eyes flicked over toward the guy and she frowned when he met her eye, smile beaming on his handsome face.

He was always saying he was going to quit and go tour South America, she’d been hoping that he’d be gone by now. 

Buggering _ shit_. 

Penny shook her head and tutted. “I swear, it's like you're blind.” 

She wasn’t. It was precisely not being blind that had placed her in the current predicament.

“Do we need to jump right into this?” Jesse groaned and picked up his glass. “Much as I enjoy our comprehensive talks about bums, I’m more interested in knowing more about this… Kangla... Kanguss... no that's not right.”

"Kangerlussuaq," Rose said, thankful for the change in conversation. She opened her hand and showed what was left of her smudged handwriting to Jesse. "Spent the whole afternoon repeating it to myself and I _ still _ don’t know it."

“The Greenland thing,” Jesse said, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “Can we just call it the Greenland thing? I hear you’ll be working with Houghton.”

Rose nodded. “And Byrne. And Shigenaga.”

“Can I _ please _ be the one to tell Sauvage?” Jesse begged, lifting his eyes heavenward. “He’ll be so salty about it. Hell, if _ I _ didn’t love you, I’d _ hate _ you right now.”

"I wouldn’t. It sounds like a rotten bore," Penny said, shaking her head. "Wouldn't take it if you paid me to."

"They _ do _ pay you," Jesse pointed out. "Handsomely too."

“There isn’t enough money in the _ world_,” Penny said, sniffing. She took one good look at Rose and frowned. “Not for you, of course. I meant for me, I need _ people_, not fjords.”

Rose followed Penny’s meaningful glance toward Nick, The Dishy Bartender, who was busy carrying a crate past them in a way that made his arms look rather… nice and strong and sinewy, like a lovely anatomical model. 

“Good for the resume,” Boot listed, lifting a finger. “Opens the door to a research position when she’s done… Fixes her proposal problem… Gets to rub shoulders with sodden _ Shigenaga, _for Merlin’s sake!”

Nick chose that exact moment to steal a glance at her and Rose felt a wave of heat rushing through her chest and up to her ears. 

“Paid vacation to an exotic land… See the Northern Lights up close...” Jesse continued lifting his fingers, the very picture of Ravenclaw pragmatism. “What else could you possibly _ want_?”

The answer was fuzzy at best: Rose had absolutely no idea. 

Nick grinned at her, a dimpled, lopsided smile that was as charming as they came. He was lovely, down to the brown curls and blue eyes of the sort that you could probably scuba dive in.

Was it flattering? Merlin, yes.

Was it exciting? Sure.

“You’re right, Jess,” she said, rubbing the back of her hand against her forehead. “It’s perfect.”

But was it _ right _ ? For her? _ Specifically_?

“He’s looking, love,” Penny said, a half smile on her face, her face cupped in her hand as she threw a meaningful glance at Nick. “I say go for it.”

“I already have,” Rose hissed, downing the shot in front of her and shifting her chair ever so slightly so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “So _ shut up _ about it!”

“_What_?!” Penny cried out. “You _ what_?!”

“For Merlin’s sake, you did not--” 

Rose’s fingers pinched at Jesse’s arm and she threw him a warning look. 

“--shag _ Nick_,” Boot continued in a lower register. “_Really_?”

“Hell yes, she _ did_!” Penny draped an arm around her head and Rose found herself smooshed against her boobs. "You beautiful darling, you never told me!"

"He’s our _ bartender_, for Merlin’s sake,” Jesse protested, lowering his voice even further until he was yell-whispering. “If I recall correctly, we had to stop going to The Turnip because you couldn’t _ face _ the other bloke!”

“It’s not the same,” Rose protested faintly. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Except it _ was _ exactly the same. Every time Nick walked past her she could practically hear her body begging her to run.

“Is that why you haven’t been coming with us?” Jesse asked indignantly. “Merlin’s sake, Rose!”

Rose lifted a single eyebrow, the color drained from her face. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. I--”

“That’s _ right_!” Penny’s arm slackened long for her to plant a dramatic kiss on Rose's cheek. “The vagina wants what the vagina wants!”

To be fair, her vagina hadn’t been particularly discerning at the time. Still, the end result had been the same: reduced stress, improved sleep and a whole array of happy hormones to help tide her over. 

“You know repeating the same mistakes and hoping for a different result is the hallmark of insanity, right?” Jesse scolded. “Come on, Rose!”

“Stop trying to oppress Rose’s vagina, Boot!”

“You two need to _ lower your damned voices_,” Rose hissed, viciously pinching both their arms. “And I’m fine with it.” She threw a glance over at Nick, who beamed back at her. “Mostly.” She quickly looked away, her voice dropping until it was barely a whisper. “So long as I don’t have to interact with him ever again.”

“Rose…”

“Oh, come off your high horse, Boot,” Rose growled. “Who I choose to shag is none of your damned business.”

“I’m so proud.” Penny wiped an imaginary tear off her cheek. “I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

“How about you stop rubbing _ on _ me?” Rose asked, hand pushing Penny’s face away. “Scoot!”

Penny let herself be pushed, the ever-present grin never faltering. “What’s a little sexual harassment between friends?”

**March 12, 23h00**

“With me it’s either they love me or hate me,” Evelyn Prescott said, tittering with pitchy laughter and shrugging good-naturedly. “Can’t please everyone, I guess.”

“Oh, no,” Scorp said blithely, “I’m quite sure most people merely tolerate you.”

Scorp couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about her that made his skin crawl - no, wait, he could. 

_ Everything_.

“Comes with the territory,” Al said gracefully. “Can’t win them all, no matter how hard you try. And _ some people_,” he added deliberately, a strained grin plastered on his face as he met Scorp’s eye, “are just dickheads.”

“I, for one, can’t think of anyone _ not _ loving you.” Yardley held out his hand to Evelyn across the table with an adoring look. “Mental, the whole lot.”

Ah yes. PDA, as if the night couldn’t possibly get any worse. 

Of all the gin-joints, Al had to pick the one where Yardley’s latest squeeze worked. It wasn’t accidental, of course, but one preferred to think one’s best friend wouldn’t _ knowingly _ drag one into the bowels of hell. 

“Oh, come off it,” Evelyn said, her cheeks flushed and a pleased smile on her face as she _ finally _ got back up to her feet - presumably to actually do her _ job_. “I need to make another round… you guys want anything else? Scorp?”

Scorp’s eyebrows arched upwards and he deigned to stare blankly at her until she finally gave up.

Petty? Perhaps. 

Satisfying? _ Immensely_. 

“Just keep em coming, Ev,” Al said with a smile that seemed designed to make up for Scorp’s social shortcomings. “You think you’ll be back soon?”

She glanced around the room and frowned a little, her eye caught on something happening close to the bar. “I don’t know, I think-- Oh, bugger, I need to go.” She planted a quick kiss on Yardley’s cheek and stormed away. “I’ll be back!”

“We’ll be holding our breaths,” Scorp said between gritted teeth. He rolled his eyes before picking up his beer and offering Yardley his most judgemental, “Really, Yards? _ Really_? She’s--”

The word died as Al’s foot met his shin with surgical precision.

“Lovely,” Al completed. “Simply lovely. She’s a gem.”

Al’s terrifyingly charming grin was still plastered on his face. The silent message in his eyes was clear: _ play nice_.

“She is, isn’t she?” Yardley was in his little world, staring dreamily at the blonde girl from afar. “One of a kind, really.”

“Small mercies,” Scorp said under his breath, low enough that it only elicited an eyebrow twitch from his best friend. “So have you uprooted your entire life for her yet?”

Scorp held his breath for a few seconds, wincing preemptively as he waited for the inevitable kick.

Al simply shrugged. Bashing on your mate was still fair game, apparently, for which Scorp was grateful. He was in a _ mood _ and he needed _ some _ sort of outlet.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Yardley said, the very picture of wounded indignation. 

Al snorted. “He hasn’t redecorated, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Yardley’s eyes flickered back to the blonde girl for a second and a small smile curled his lips. “_Yet_.”

“How nightmarish,” Scorpius said, shuddering with revulsion. The thought of Evelyn inspired décor made his insides curl in a way that her giggling hadn’t managed to. “Completely unrelated question: what will you be doing with the couch?”

His distaste for Evelyn aside, perhaps if Yardley decided to redecorate he could get his hands on the Chesterfield.

Silver linings, really.

“What couch?” Yardley asked, his brow furrowed as he inventoried his possessions. “Or more to the point, _ which _ couch?”

“He means the one with the buttons,” Al said, rolling his eyes. “The impractical leather one that sticks to your bum.”

Scorp sniggered. “Just because you can’t be arsed to wear pants--” 

“And we would _ very _ much appreciate it if you would,” Yardley added with a smile. “Watching you walk around in your teeny tiny shorts gets old after a while.”

“-- doesn’t mean that couch isn’t one of the best things that’s come out of the furniture industry in the last few centuries.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Al said, sniffling with mock indignation. “My shorts are perfectly average sized, the teeny tiny ones are _ yours_.” 

“If you could be persuaded to _ not _ pinch my shorts, then maybe--”

“If you were a better host who, say, _ provided _ us with pants--”

“I’m not going to buy _ clothes _ for you!” Yardley protested. 

As if the very idea was ludicrous and he was not in fact footing the bill for this outing, the same as he had every single one since his mother had passed and he’d become the wizarding equivalent of King Fucking Midas.

“Why not?” Scorp asked gaily, stepping in to diffuse what was promising to turn into an entertaining, albeit lengthy domestic dispute. “You buy them for your girlfriends and Al certainly qualifies. He’s a far more permanent fixture in your life than, say, _ Evelyn _ there.”

Albus seemed to ponder on whether this was taking it too far and worthy of a kick but then seemed to brush it off. “I concur. I’m practically your wife, Alastair dearest.”

Yardley almost choked on his beer. It took him a few seconds of gagging and wheezing before he was able to cough out a strangled, “I want a _ divorce_.”

Evelyn chose that precise moment to arrive, once again murdering the pleasant mood they’d managed to resurrect in her absence. 

“You lot look happy,” she said cheerfully, throwing a relieved look specifically in Scorp’s direction that had his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “What did I miss?”

“Hopefully me.” Yardley grinned, taking the beers from his hands and helping her balance the empty glasses on her tray. “Don’t worry, darling, you’re not missing anything. Nothing worthwhile ever comes out of these wanker’s mouths.”

“She’s in excellent company then,” Scorp said, earning himself a kick from under the table.

Evelyn narrowed his eyes with apprehension and threw Yardley a helpless look. Immediately her knight in shining armor got up to his feet, gallantly taking the precariously balanced tray from her hand. “I’ll be right back.”

“You need to _ be nice_,” Al hissed, as soon as their backs were turned. “I told Yardley you’d be on your best behaviour!”

“I _ am _ on my best behaviour,” Scorp protested, glaring at his best friend. “I’m not _ actively _ insulting her, am I?”

This sounded like a terrible, terrible dejá vu from his conversation with Kate. Allowances must be made however: there had to be limits to how much bullshit one was expected to put up with in one day. 

After Descartes, his tolerance was stretched rather thin.

“Do _ better_,” Al scolded. “Really, Scorp.”

“She’s…” Scorp’s smile was strained and he could feel his eye twitching slightly as Evelyn’s pitchy laugh resounded across the room. “_Horrible_,” Scorp continued, hissing with disdain. “You didn’t tell me I was supposed to put up with _ this_.”

“If I’d told you,” Al replied between gritted teeth, a patently fake smile plastered on his face as he waved at Evelyn, “you wouldn’t have come now, would you?”

“Al…”

Al sighed, brushing a hand through his already dishevelled hair. "Scorp…" he started, taking a deep breath and pinching the ridge of his nose. "Can't you be civil for _ two hours_?"

“She’s _ awful_,” Scorp said, taking a seat on the nearest barstool. “What is Yards thinking?”

“He _ isn’t _ thinking,” Al growled. “Remind me: do I not invite you because you always say ‘no’ or because you’re an arse? Or do you always say ‘no’ _ because _ you’re an arse?”

Scorp shook his head and let out a dignified sniffle. “She’s the worst yet.”

“Scorp, you _ always _ say that,” Al said, patting his arm sympathetically. “Remember the new-age, artsy hippie?”

“Doesn’t hold a candle to _ that _ walking eardrum injury.” Scorp pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowed again. “How is _ this _ better for me than staying home? At least Rose--”

“Rose is _ also _ out, you little blight,” Al interrupted, rolling his eyes. “And since I had to come out and meet Yardley’s latest, I couldn’t exactly stay home and babysit now, could I?”

_ Babysit. _

“Right.” Scorp bit his lower lip, closed his eyes and took a _ deep _ breath for the thousandth time that night. “Right you are.”

“Oh, come on, don’t look so glum,” Al said sympathetically, getting up to his feet and circling the booth to sit next to him. “It’s not all bad, is it? The music isn’t so loud we can’t chat and you managed to scare away the company. Aren’t you pleased?”

Scorp rolled his eyes and smiled, indulging Al’s halfhearted attempt to pull him out of his sullens. “Now that you ask...”

“Perfect. Then shut your gob and have a drink.” Al plucked Yardley and Evelyn’s forgotten beers and slid them until they were directly under Scorp’s nose. “I’ve noticed there’s a correlation between how snockered you are and how tolerable you are.”

“Is that your plan then,” Scorp asked, shaking his head and letting out a strained chuckle, “plying me with alcohol and hoping for the best?”

“What can I say, I'm an optimist." Al rested his cheek on his hand and pointed a finger loaded with meaning at the beers. “Now chug.”

“Fine.” 

“Look, I know this isn’t what you had in mind, but Yardley is excited about her and--”

“Al, he’s excited about _ all _ of them.”

“I rarely ask you for anything,” Al started, flexing his fingers and frowning into his glass. “But just this once, could you please _ try_? If not for Yards, for me?”

“_Why_?”

“Do I need a reason?”

The question hovered in the air, heavy with ten years of friendship.

Scorp scowled and scoffed and finally, after a few seconds of considering how much he hated the entire world and everyone in it, he allowed the knee-jerk answer to make its stand.

“You don’t. I’ll _ try_, mind you.”

“Good,” Al said, straightening himself with a shit eating grin. “Now _ drink_.”

**March 13, 00h00**

“Where _ is _ Rose anyway?” Scorp asked, trying perhaps _ too _ hard to not let his words slur, which was difficult because he was also trying _ too _ hard to not sound _ too _ interested. “You said she was out?”

“Who’s Rose?” 

That was Evelyn. Evelyn apparently had a bad habit of butting into relevant conversations.

Did he still hate her? 

That was a good question.

“Al’s cousin,” Yardley clarified. “She’s a Healer at St. Mungos.”

“She’s a Fourth Year now, apparently--”

“Yeah, Rose is a great egg, if you ever need a consultation--”

The universe was clearly sending him a message here, telling him to back the hell off.

What bothered him the most was that, of all people, the bloody universe had chosen Evelyn Prescott to pass it on. 

“Oh, oh, _ oh_,” Evelyn cried suddenly, peeling her eyes from Yardley to look at Al. “Does your cousin know Alec? Alec Sauvage?”

“Oh, Merlin,” Scorp bit down a small laugh and buried his face on his hand. “Of course.”

Of all people, _ Alec Sauvage _would be the one she used as a calling card. 

“He’s _ my _ cousin!”

“You say that like you’re proud,” Scorp said, smiling brightly and mimicking her tone. “I’m sure you two get along beautifully.”

“Yes, Rose knows Alec,” Al enunciated with a sweet smile, his foot gingerly stroking Scorp’s leg as a silent warning. “Great bloke.”

“Oh, God no,” Evelyn said, snorting. “He’s a right wanker.”

Scorp tilted his head ever-so-slightly to look at the girl. “He’s what?”

“A wanker,” she clarified, letting out a small chuckle. “Your poor cousin needs to work with him?” 

Scorp realised something: in the past half hour or so she’d somehow _ stopped _ giggling.

**March 13, 01h00**

“Rose is at the Firecracker,” Al said, a smile on his face after Yardley and Evelyn left again, under the pretense of needing a smoke - except, according to Al, neither of them smoked. “She’s with Pen and Boot.”

“Hmmmm. Adding drinking to the ways she’s killing herself _ is _ indeed the next logical step.”

Yes, indifference. Indifference was good. 

“That’s fresh coming from someone who’s spent the past hour trying to outdrink Scotland.”

Scorp glanced at the discarded glasses on the edge of the table.

“M’fine.”

Okay, so he wasn’t fine. He hadn’t been fine about three drinks ago, and he certainly wasn’t fine now. However, there was much to be said about the way the world felt after you were past the point of no return.

Was he snockered?

_ Ehhhh_.

Did he _ feel _ better? 

Merlin, _ yes_.

“She’s having _ fun_, Judgy McJudgerson,” Al said, resting his cheek on his hand and giving Scorp with a once-over. “And apparently so are you.”

“S’different. This is an _ exception_.” He straightened himself in his seat and glared at Albus. “And fine, even if this isn’t the most glaring example of her passive-suicidal antics, she keeps doing pat… patently stupid shit and you _ never _ tell her off.”

“It’s not a matter of telling her off,” Al said calmly, picking a chip and dunking it into the nearby whitish sauce, the one that looked _ and _ tasted rather suspicious. “She’s an adult and they’re _ her _ patently stupid decisions to make. It's her decision to skip breakfast, just like it was your decision to spend all morning reading Descartes.”

“It’s not remotely comparable!”

Albus lifted a single eyebrow and smiled, like the proper arsehole he was. “Isn’t it?”

“She’s _ self-destructive_! It’s _ not _ the same!”

Oh, great, he was slurring, wasn’t he?

“I meant you are both adults and they are both _ decisions_,” Al said patiently. “I wasn’t attaching any moral weight to them. _ You _ are.”

Scorp shook his head. “What I don’t get is _ why_. Why does she systematically--”

“You of all people would have a hard time ‘getting it’.” Al slid the chips in his direction, quirking an eyebrow at him. “You thrive on structure. You take your vitamins. You go to bed at _ ten_, which, by the way, is _ not _ normal.”

“Are you saying I’m the weird one out?!”

“No, I’m saying you’re _ both _ weirdos,” Al clarified, shaking his head. “You take care of yourself better than any twenty-one year old reasonably should. Rose is the exact opposite. Most of us think you’re _ both _raving lunatics.”

“But that still doesn’t explain--”

“Oh, trust me, _ I _ don’t get it either. However, it’s not my business to get it,” Al said deliberately. “_My _ business is to shut up and be there when she needs me.”

Scorp could feel every hair standing at attention at the unfamiliar sound of Albus Potter mincing his words.

“But can’t you say _ something_?”

"Say what, exactly? It's not a matter of ignorance, she knows what she's doing." Al stuffed a handful of chips into his mouth. "And people only change when they _ want _ to change, not necessarily when it’d be good for them to do so."

"It's _ unhealthy_."

"5 points for Slytherin."

"It's… insane."

"I despair for you, I really do," Al said, shoving another chip into his mouth. "None of this should come as a shock by now."

It did come as a shock. 

Well fine, it didn’t, but it was still outrageous and he was ill-equipped to deal with it. People had issues, he knew that. The only problem was that the few people he cared about didn’t have this sort of issue. 

Al’s noxious heartbreak was one thing but it was externally inflicted. Al didn’t go around London looking for girls to stomp all over him and it wasn’t like anyone could’ve predicted it. It wasn’t like Zara had ever projected a homewrecking aura.

Rose on the other hand was enthusiastically and knowingly hammering away every nail to an early coffin. 

"What about her parents?"

He might not need to be wrapped in cotton wool, but Rose sure as hell did.

“You’re not _ listening_,” Al said, his frustration apparent in his words. “It wouldn’t make a difference! Why do you think I had her move in with us!”

“Because you’re a selfish wanker that always gets his way?”

“Maybe.” Al snorted, a rueful smile curling his mouth. “Look, Aunt Mione wasn’t around much so she’s mostly not to blame. But Uncle Ron worried, bless his little helicopter parent soul.” 

“Sounds like solid parenting,” Scorp said. “What’s the problem?”

“When people worry, they also tend to nag. And the problem with nagging is that it doesn't change a thing. It tastes like contempt and it only breeds guilt." 

Al stopped and looked in the general direction of the ceiling, his lips pursed, his next words coming out in that slow, thoughtful way that made Scorp's blood curdle in his veins. 

Al had a point to make and he was keen on shoving it down Scorp’s throat, choking be damned.

"Guilt in turn leads to not knowing what the fuck Rose is up to because she doesn’t have the courage to tell you." 

He might be a bit slow right now, but he was still conscious enough to know a warning when he heard one. And by the sound of it, it was important.

“I thought that was you.” Scorp coughed awkwardly, trying to shift the tide of the conversation to some semblance of normalcy. “Aren’t you projecting?”

“Same shit, different smell.” Al shrugged, bursting the bubble of dramatics and returning to his usual MO of talking straight out of his arse. “With me it’s not so much about guilt as it is about peace and fucking quiet. Our precious Rose, on the other hand, is terminally averse to disappointing people.”

Al was usually extremely tight lipped when it came to his cousin. For all of Al’s flaws, Scorp knew that he had painstakingly kept Rose and him separate all those years, not giving away a single juicy morsel of blackmail slash mocking material to either one. 

Which begged the question. "Why are you telling me all this?" 

It sounded dangerously close to… _ advice_.

"Because you two are finally trying to get along," Al said, shrugging like it was obvious. "You could probably work it out yourself after a couple decades, but cheating is easier."

'Work smarter, not harder' was Al's second favourite motto, right after 'if you can't beat them, run and sulk at Yardley's'.

"So you're giving me a handicap?" Scorp's eyebrows shot upwards. "Really?"

"Why, don't you want one?" Al rested his face on his hand and slanted a shit eating grin his way that gave Scorp yet another uncanny feeling of déjà vu. “I thought you might.”

He _ knew_. It wasn't enough that Kate knew, no. Al knew as well, which meant Yardley probably knew too and if Yardley knew, half of London would know by now, including Evelyn Prescott, who had absolutely no business knowing anything. 

_Scorpius Malfoy liked Rose Weasley._

He could feel the words in his chest, trying to claw their way out to freedom and he stomped them right back down, slammed the lid back on and prayed like hell it wouldn’t give. 

Scorp cleared his throat. “If we’re going to survive living together, I’ll need all the help I can get.”

Denial had been an exemplary tenant for years, he wasn’t about to kick her out now. As long as he didn’t say a word about it, it wasn’t true. It hadn’t been true for years and it certainly wasn’t true now. 

Admittedly, he _ had _ been growing a little careless of late, but it was difficult to remember where you’d drawn the line when you were sitting smack dab in the middle of a sandstorm. 

And yes ‘a little careless’ was the fucking understatement of the century: hook, line and sinker had been blown out of the water and all that was left was that wretched feeling in his heart that just wouldn’t quit. 

Every time he remembered the night on the pitch he was possessed by an uncontrollable urge to find a shovel.

Al narrowed his eyes for a fraction of a second before apparently deciding not to pursue it. Scorp for one was eternally grateful to him.

“Just remember: nagging is like wanking,” Al said gravely. “If you do it all the fucking time, you get diminishing returns.”

And then, as if to punctuate the latest installment of Albus Potter’s Worldly Wisdom, Al leaned over the side of the table and hurled the fries he’d been actively inhaling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are again. This chapter was particularly difficult to produce on account of... idk, it just was. There were a lot of things I wanted to show / pave the way for that I wasn't quite /getting/ right and RL got in the way and it's just been a rough month. Is it perfect? Idk, probably not, but I'm half satisfied with this and that's better than nothing.
> 
> Next chapter has been in my head since the very beginning, so hopefully that one will turn out easier to write than this and I won't mope around for a month going "words, what are they even". As usual thanks to TheChirpyWitch for proofing this, and thanks to RonsGirlFriday, la_topolina and cassielassie for putting up with my whining. If you haven't yet, I strongly advise you go take a look at their stuff - they're all gorgeous writers :D
> 
> As usual reviews and comments are super appreciated! I haven't replied to any from last chapter because I am, simply put, a disgrace, but I'll be getting them on later today :D
> 
> Until next time, peace <3


	23. Get The F*** Out of My Kitchen

**March 13, 04h00**

There was an award-winning hangover presently making camp in her stomach. 

It was the sort of hangover that all other hangovers envied. The sort of hangover that got photographed for Hangover Weekly and got quoted saying ‘I worked really hard to get where I am now’ but nobody really believes them because they come from a long line of hangovers and their hangover empire rules the land.

That award-winning hangover was reacting very poorly to the choir of incoherent shrieking currently happening up in the attic.

Rose’s wide eyes were glued to the ceiling as familiar panic slowly settled in. The room was pitch black and she was still feeling a little too terrified to move, but she could discern the breathing form next to her, feel its (fine, _ his_) slimy tendrils (fine, _ arm_) around her waist, clutching her closer. 

Trapping her in with no hope of escape.

_ Bugger. Buggering bugger. _

She closed her eyes and took a very deep breath. 

When she finally exhaled, her body had finally gotten somewhat of a hold of itself. That is to say, it had taken the time to hold an emergency meeting and all those internal organs that were usually at odds with one another had for once banded together to present a united front. 

Brain, heart, ailing gut presented her now with the unanimous verdict: she needed to get out of there.

_ Presto_. 

* * *

**March 13, 06h00**

_ No new messages. _

Okay, so this had perhaps not been her brightest plan yet. Rose frowned at the white tiles on the wall. She sat back down on the closed toilet seat, let her magitech fall onto the shower carpet at her feet and rested her face on her hands.

“Rose?” There was a tentative knock on the door. “You alright?” 

Rose sprang to her feet and tried to steady her pumping heart.

_ Damn it_.

Okay, so she had two options here: either she stepped out and faced her Terrible Decision head-on or she could stay there a while longer and run the risk of her Terrible Decision thinking she’d been shitting for the past two hours.

All in all, not a good choice.

Maybe if she just stayed quiet--

“Rose?” Another two, more nervous knocks. “Rose? You still with me?”

Oh, great, now he sounded concerned. And concern led to stupid decisions like knocking down the door and calling St. Mungo’s on her half-naked arse, which was the last thing she needed. 

“I’m fine,” she stuttered, “I’m just…” 

Rose hesitated, eyes looking around her in vain for some excuse, some reasonable way to explain why she’d left him in bed and ran off in the middle of the night to hide in the toilet.

“... _ busy_.”

‘Busy’?! Straight Os in all her exams and the best she could come up with was ‘busy’?!

She should’ve left when she’d had the chance. Should’ve taken the Floo to her parents or something, except of course she hadn't had the time to get any real clothes on before he’d woken up. And showing up at her parents' wearing nothing but her knickers sounded like the hell to end all hells and--

“Oh, right. _ Right_."

Rose winced and mouthed a small curse. She could practically hear his brain going '_ ding, she's shitting _'.

"Can I get you something?”

All she wanted was for him to _ leave_ . Unfortunately, there was the small problem that a) he was being terribly _ nice _ and b) _ she _ had been the one who'd told him he could stay. 

“No… uh… just…”

“You don’t sound well.”

“I’ll… I’ll be right out, don’t worry.” Rose closed her eyes and wordlessly cursed at the ceiling. “Just...”

“Yeah, no, I just…” There was a small awkward chuckle on the other side of the door. “Coffee maybe?”

Okay, so she wasn’t really shitting, but he thought she was. So the anxiety of talking to someone while one was shitting? 

_ Still applied_.

“Yeah, sure… Just...”

“Kitchen still down the hallway?”

Rose winced. 

‘Still’. Boot was right. This _was _the hallmark of insanity.

“Yes…?”

“Right-o, it’s been a while.”

“Nick, do you think you could maybe… erm… uh…”

“No, right, you’re right, nothing worse than--"

Talking to someone while they were at their most intimate and vulnerable? Even if they weren't _technically _shitting?

"-- kitchen, right. Coffee.”

Rose heard the retreating steps and sighed with relief. 

_Finally_.

And then they came scrambling back.

“Do you take your coffee with--”

Rose gave the door a horrified look and gasped for a few seconds, unable to come up with _anything _that didn’t make her want to drown herself in the tub.

“-- right. Leaving now. Sorry.”

There was no getting rid of him, was there? Not only was she going to have to look the guy in the eye and tell him to bugger off, but he was _also _going to think she’d been shitting for two hours.

It was like she couldn’t catch a break.

Rose slumped against the wall and let herself slide all the way down to the cold floor. 

She needed to leave. She needed to get up, march herself out that door and tell Nick calmly and politely that he’d overstayed his welcome, in spite of the way Drunk Rose had clung to him a few hours ago and told him ‘_of course _he could stay’.

Okay, so what now?

Al wasn’t picking up his magitech so he wasn’t an option. 

Scorp… 

All the blood drained from her face.

No. Just _ no_. The very thought of him anywhere _ near _ this filled her with the sort of anguished panic that was reserved for when your puppy died.

What would he _think_? 

Oh, Merlin, he’d think she was a tart. And, quite honestly, could she blame him? She was half in love with him and considering asking him for help kicking her one-night stand to the curb. What kind of screwed up message was that sending?

Shit, what if they _ran into _one another? 

Well, that opened up a whole new array of screwed up possibilities. If they ran into one another… oh, Merlin, what if… 

* * *

It was just a little after the crack of dawn, the ageing night taking its final breaths. 

The door to Scorpius Malfoy's bedroom was closed, with no signs of opening anytime soon. There was no Puddlemere gear coming out of it, no pasty skin and blond hair. 

His pride had also moved, taken lodging elsewhere.

The faint light oozing through the window marked no moment of joyful quiet. Instead, the silence was broken by a harsh expletive as Scorp attempted to step out of bed and his foot landed directly on the alarm clock he’d accidentally but very purposely murdered sometime in the previous week.

All in all, not a great way to start one’s day.

Dear Merlin, his mouth tasted like that strip you were supposed to lick on an envelope. Hell, his entire tongue felt _like _an envelope, texture and all.

Scorp brushed his knuckles against his forehead and picked up his magitech. His eyes widened ever-so-slightly as he gleaned the time: six a.m.

There was a small lurch on his chest as he recognised his familiar waking hours and realised… _ somehow_, he was back on Scorpius Mean Time. 

_ Somehow _this godforsaken night, with its copious drinking and noxious aftereffects had clobbered his body back to its default. 

Judging by the way his mouth felt, it might just as well be said body's desperate plea for hydration. Nevertheless, beggars couldn’t be choosers and, for about a month now, Scorp had been feeling terribly beggared of _any _sort of motivation to wake up before nine. 

Sitting there in the darkness right before the dawn, such a glaring lack of a spine seemed just... abysmal.

_ Nine_?! What was he, an animal? A member of some sort of Roman Bacchanalia? An epicurean, pseudo-artistic, _ bon-vivant_? 

And yet, somehow, thanks to sheer coincidence... here he was again, plucked from that self-indulgent nightmare and back to the familiar routine that made his soul hum with petty accomplishment. He gingerly got back up, side-stepping the minefield near the immediate edge of his bed and managing to come out unharmed this time.

He might feel like utter rubbish, but opening the window and seeing, _ smelling _the familiar pea-soup morning haze made him feel more like himself than he had in weeks.

Merlin, he felt like he could almost --

No, he didn’t feel like he could almost. He could and he damned well _ would_. 

Yesterday’s Scorp, with his sybaritic nine a.m. tendencies, would have chugged a glass of water and returned to bed. 

Today’s Scorp had a whole day ahead of him. 

A day that started at six a.m.

A day that would begin with a fresh pot of tea, a crisp newspaper and a session of mind-numbing flying and violence, just to get him sorted. And then… _ then_, he was going to go out and get himself a damned job. 

_ Any _job. 

Filled with unwavering confidence, brain already flipping through several of the offers that various nepotic relatives had made him in the past month, Scorp stepped out of his room and dropped his gear bag next to the door.

Oh, wow. _ Tingles_. Tingles all over.

He stared at it for a moment, a small fond smile on his face before turning to the kitchen. 

Kitchen. Tea. Living Room. Crosswords. Routine.

Sense was restored to his morning. Now all he needed--

Scorp stopped dead under the doorframe. 

There was an unknown bloke of undetermined origin sitting on one of the kitchen stools, drinking something that smelled like coffee and leisurely scribbling on _his _newspaper.

Most notably, he was wearing nothing but his _underpants_.

“Alright, mate?” the intruder asked, flashing him an amiable smile. “Rose is in the loo, she’ll be any minute now.”

Scorp on the other hand was having a hard time processing any words of his own. It was like the Universe had one item on its To-Do List: bugger Scorpius Malfoy. And just like him, apparently, the Universe had gotten an early start on its day.

Was this some sort of intervention, a cosmic “all hope for this day is lost, don’t even bother and go back to bed”?

“I’m Nick,” the stranger continued, putting out a hand. “You must be Malfoy.” 

He supposed the bloke was trying to be nice. Unfortunately, Scorp didn’t give a shit about him - all he cared about was restoring the semblance of order to his life that he’d managed to regain and lose within the span of ten minutes.

Scorp stayed firmly put under the doorframe and stared at the guy’s hand long enough that he finally realised he wasn’t _going _to get a shake and dropped it.

“Early morning?” The Underpants Git, who was apparently unflappably friendly, was now giving Scorp's Quidditch boots an appreciative look. “Nothing like a good fly before the crack of dawn.”

His mutinous silence seemed to be having no effect at all on this wanker. Instead, said wanker just folded the newspaper in-between his fingers to mark his crosswords - _ Scorp’s crosswords _ \- and took a pointed sip of his coffee. “So… would you like some of this to go?” he asked, tilting his chin toward the door. “Rose should be--” 

Was this arsehole not-so-subtly asking _him _to leave? 

“No,” Scorp enunciated, matching Underpants-Wanker’s grin. “I would, however, like a fresh cup of Get The Fuck Out Of My Kitchen.”

It was time for Underpants-Wanker to be at a loss, his eyes wide as saucers. For a few seconds, Underpants-Wanker was deathly silent, staring at him as if trying to figure out if he was serious or not.

He came to the wrong conclusion, as people often did, and cracked an enormous smile, with a side of generous chuckling.

“Merlin, you almost got me th--”

Scorp tutted once, lifted a single eyebrow and stepped aside to point at the door. “_Out_.”

“But Rose--”

“Listen, _ mate_,” Scorp said with a scowl. “I don’t happen to have my wand on me, which means I can’t actually hex you, which would be my first instinct. _ However_,” and here Scorp tilted his head, offering the bloke a somewhat feral grin, “wand or no wand, I’m pretty sure I could _ still _ wipe the floor with you.”

Underpant-Wanker gaped. 

“Now you’re wondering if I really _ would _ attempt the aforementioned arse-kicking.” Scorp shook his head. “Usually, the answer would be ‘no’. However, seeing as you’re ruining what was otherwise a perfect morning - and you see, I haven’t had a lot of those recently - you’re _ really _forcing my hand here.”

Scorp took a leisurely step into the kitchen and his angry, growling heart leapt with joy as Underpants-Wanker scrambled down from his seat and took a step backwards. 

“But my stuff’s still in Rose’s room and--”

It was like the guy _wanted _to get his face bashed in with a bloody kitchen stool.

“And it’s locked?” Scorp shook his head and tutted again, taking another step forth and watching with delight as Nick slowly circled the aisle. “Yes, it does that sometimes. Keeps the _ undesirables _ out.”

Underpants-Wanker’s eyebrows shot upwards and his mouth opened in protest. “You can’t--”

“That’s where you’re wrong. _ Out_,” Scorp said, picking up the wanker’s discarded mug and ostensibly pouring the remainder of his coffee into the sink with a smile. “There’s a pot of Floo by the fireplace. I suggest you make use of it _ before _ I get to the living room.”

Usually, the tongue lashing he’d just delivered would have made him feel a little better. However, as he put on the kettle and pulled a clean mug from the cupboard, all he felt like was a sad, deflated balloon. 

Rose had gotten herself a _ boyfriend_. 

A coffee-drinking, boxer-donning, crossword-purloining sodden _boyfriend. _

* * *

“GET _ OUT _!”

“What in the--” Rose’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion as she crossed the distance between the bathroom and the living room. “--world.”

She’d expected to see Nick. Her hand tightened around the robe she’d grabbed on the way out of the bathroom and she met Scorpius’s thundering face instead. 

This day simply couldn’t get any worse.

“What… where’s...?”

“I presume _ that_,” he said, tilting his chin toward the fireplace with disdain, “was yours.”

Now, calling Nick ‘hers’ was a gross overstatement, especially considering she’d spend the past two hours hanging out in the loo with the sole purpose of avoiding him. 

“_Sure_,” was what came out instead, defensiveness bubbling in her chest. ”Did you _ kick him out_?”

Scorp glared back at her. “He was drinking coffee in _ my _kitchen--”

“_Our _ kitchen!”

“-- hacking at _ my _ crosswords and he had the _ cheek_,” here Scorp shook his head as if he simply couldn’t wrap his mind around it, “the _ gall _ to ask me, _ me!, _ if I wanted some coffee ‘_to go_’!”

She wasn’t entirely sure which of those three accusations was more offensive to him, the coffee, the crosswords or Nick asking Scorp to make himself scarce.

“In my _ own _ bloody house!”

Rose stared blankly back at him for a few seconds, watching as Scorp set the mug on the coffee table and crossed his arms in front of his chest, all of him presumptuous defiance.

“Wild thought: did it occur to you to maybe say… ‘no’?” she asked, shaking her head. “Instead of outright kicking him out?”

“Not at all,” Scorp said acerbically. “Did it occur to you to maybe give me a heads up regarding potential half-naked wankers I might encounter in my kitchen at six in the bloody morning?” 

“Half-naked?”

What in the world?

“Apparently,” Scorp said, pursing his lips into a wry smirk, “your _room _refused to let him back in to get the rest of his clothes. Might want to owl them to him.”

He was furious, that much she could tell. 

She didn’t particularly care that he’d booted her one-nighter out, quite the contrary. Unfortunately, judging by all the yelling she’d heard from outside the bathroom leading up to Scorp kicking said one-nighter out in his underpants, he’d been a dick _whilst _doing the kicking.

And while there _was _a little bit inside of her that desperately wanted to set the record straight, to not have him misunderstand this as anything more than a drunken roll under the sheets… there were boundaries that needed refining.

“So my room kicked him out and you decided to follow suit and do the same,” Rose said, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Except, of course, my room is an inanimate thing that doesn’t know any better. What the hell’s _ your _ excuse?”

He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. “Look, Rose--”

“No, seriously,” she continued, “is this what it’s going to be like? I can’t have people over because you’re going to act like a prat if you happen to run into them in the hallway?”

There was a flicker of something unfamiliar in his eyes. He pressed his lips together and opened his mouth as if to say something… and then apparently decided against it.

“Well?” Rose uncrossed her arms. “Say you’re _ sorry_, you wanker!”

“I’m not, though,” he said with that faint hint of a smile. “You _ know _ I’m not.”

“I don’t particularly care about whether you really are sorry or not.” Rose gave a disdainful sniff. “_Say _ you’re sorry so I can go get some clothes on, I’m getting cold here.”

He looked amused. “How _ long _ were you in there?”

“Immaterial,” Rose said, pointedly rolling her eyes before letting out a sigh. “Long enough. Now hurry up. You’re...?” She held out a hand and tilted her head, waiting for him to finish.

“Sorry?” 

Scorp sounded doubtful like this was a trap and he was trying very hard not to fall in it.

“You’re terrible at this,” Rose scolded. “Say it with _ some _ conviction, for goodness’ sake.”

“I’m _ terribly _ sorry I kicked your boyfriend out.”

Not exactly the most unsarcastic of apologies, but it’d have to do. 

Rose rubbed her arm with her hand. “And you won’t do it again?”

Scorp grabbed the mug and wordlessly handed it to her, which, honestly, was a far better apology than the one he’d doled out under duress. 

Rose gave the robe’s belt a quick pull before wrapping both her hands around the warm mug. “Thanks.”

“Alright, Weasley?” he asked sheepishly. “You don’t look _ too _ angry.”

“_You _ don’t look too bloody sorry either.” Rose sighed and took a sip from the mug. 

Oh, that was _glorious_. It was like her hangover was _purring_.

After a few seconds of bliss, she finally allowed herself to heed the nagging voice inside her head screaming ‘_don’t let him misunderstand_’. 

“Also he’s not my boyfriend,” she added. “Which could explain why I’m not _ too _ angry.”

She could feel her pulse quicken as his eyes met hers and his mouth curled into that one grin that, properly weaponised, would level every pair of knickers in London.

“You don’t say,” he drawled, slowly uncrossing his arms. “Is that my robe?”

“_No_,” she said defensively. “It’s Al’s.”

Except, of course, she was lying. And except, of course, judging by the way he was chuckling to himself as he left the living room, he _knew _she was.

“Oh, _ shove off_,” she yelled at the hallway. “I wasn’t going to come out naked, was I?”

* * *

He hadn’t supposed she _would _follow him and yet she had. She was now leaning against the doorframe, still wearing nothing but his bathrobe and drinking his tea.

And... _ she didn’t have a boyfriend_.

“I grabbed the first thing I could find,” she emphasized. “Could’ve been a damned towel.”

“Did you lose your clothes?” Scorp asked, grabbing a second mug and pouring some of the tea he’d brewed into it. “Misplaced them? Or is that ‘immaterial’ too?”

‘Immaterial’, she’d said. ‘Long enough’. What in the world did that mean?

It meant a lot. It meant she’d spent a long time --

“Ha, ha, very funny,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They were in my room. I didn’t have the time--”

Scorp sucked in his breath as he finally pieced it together. "You were _ hiding_."

"I was _ not_!" Rose cried indignantly. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

"The kind of person who hides from their one-nighter in the _ loo_," Scorp said, letting out a strangled laugh. "Oh, Merlin."

She was insane and every single bit of him wanted to reach out and kiss her. And she'd been shagging some random arsehole only a few hours earlier, so maybe _ he _ was the one who was mad as a hatter.

"I wasn't hiding." Rose sniffled. "I was... regrouping."

"Regrouping?" Scorp barely got out the word in between chuckles. "_Regrouping_?"

She was going to be the death of him and he was going to enjoy every single minute of it, like the masochistic simpleton he was.

And yet... _she didn’t have a boyfriend_.

Strange how that one sentence kept creeping into his thoughts. Or not so strange, considering how that one sentence had turned this incredibly shitty day into one that was… well, it wasn’t perfect, but it also wasn’t _ not _ perfect.

"I'm _ so _ glad this is a source of amusement to you," she huffed angrily. "Next time I'll be sure to send you a note so you don't miss out."

Next. Time.

Each word was like a lash and Scorp, who a second prior couldn't seem to stop laughing was now having a hard time finding any reasons to laugh at all.

"Next time," he deadpanned. "_Next time_, Rose?" 

She glared at him. "If this is how you're going to react--"

Scorp glared back. "Am I to ascertain that this isn't a one-time thing?"

“Two-time thing, technically.” Her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly as if daring him to say anything. “What of it?"

"You mean this has happened _ before_?"

Maybe he _ should _ have bashed the guy’s face in with a kitchen stool.

Rose eyed him tersely, her arms crossed defensively in front of her chest. "What. Of. It?"

“Underpants-Wanker is a _ recurring _ mistake?”

“_Underpants-Wanker_?” Rose repeated under her breath, her mouth shaking into a brief smile... before she remembered she was supposed to be angry and went right back to scowling. “And who said he was a mistake?”

“The fact that you were_ hiding in the loo _ for an ‘immaterial’ amount of time tells me it was a mistake,” he specified smugly. “Or am I wrong?”

She said nothing and instead focused on her tea, a small crease between her eyebrows.

He was right and she looked… _ hurt_. There was the tiniest chink in her armour, laid bare for everyone to see.

And okay, ‘bare’ might be a loaded choice of words but she was wearing his robe and it was driving him spare.

The fact of the matter was… she was vulnerable. And he… well, he was an _ arse_.

A _ jealous _ arse at that. 

"I didn’t mean it,” he said quietly after a few minutes of pointed silence. “For all I know, Underpants-Wanker could be a standup bloke.”

Rose gave her head a cynical tilt. “_You don’t say_?”

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “_Really_.”

“That was almost convincing,” she said dryly. “Good job.”

“That’s because I actually _ am _ sorry.” Scorp offered her a tentative smile. “_That’s _ what it sounds like.” 

Rose’s eyes softened. “Really?”

“Strangely, yes, I _ am_.” Scorp sighed. “Look, I'll apologise to the tosser next time you bring him over if it’s that important to you. I'll--"

"What do you mean ‘next time’?"

Well, that felt like deja vu. Of the reverse kind because he could've sworn he'd been the one asking it, not her. Was he going batty now?

"What do you mean 'what do you mean next time'?" He asked incredulously, meeting the small smile on her face. "You were the one who--"

"Sod off. You were being a judgy pest, of _ course _ I was going to…" Rose grew quiet and shook her head. "No, there won't be a next time."

"For goodness’ sake, you’re not going celibate because I threw this one out, are you?"

_ Fingers crossed. _

"No, of course not.” Her eyebrows shot upwards and she threw him a funny look. “I'm just saying you won't find anyone else pinching your crosswords."

The hurt was now gone from her voice and Scorp felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"Oh really? I'm curious, how _ do _ you intend to stop the next would-be crossword pincher from their nefarious evil doing when you're hiding in the loo?"

"Bog off,” Rose said, her mouth curling into a smile. “It was a one-time thing."

"What, don't you _ always _ hide in the bathroom wearing nothing but a bathrobe?"

"I'm fine. And I have underwear on, thank you very much." 

She rolled her eyes and hitched the bottom of the towel upward to show all was above board, therein successfully rendering his brain comatose.

Oh, Merlin. 

Scorp took a deep breath and covered his eyes with his hand trying his absolute hardest - no, no, _ not _ 'hardest', nothing was hard anywhere, for goodness' sake - doing his absolute best to focus on anything but the image of Rose Weasley carelessly flashing him her knickers, which his perfidious brain was now playing on a loop.

“Come on, Malfoy,” she said, letting out a laugh, “you’ve seen it all before.”

Indeed he had but the image of her naked back then was severely tainted with memories of barf, sweat and yelling. This one was barf, sweat and yelling free, even if it did come with an insistent whisper of 'she _just _ shagged another dude'.

An insistent whisper he was choosing to ignore.

"And it's the first time, alright?” she continued. “I usually get Al to boot them before it comes to this."

Of course she did.

“Except Al wasn't picking up and I wasn't exactly dressed for a stroll,” Rose babbled on, rolling her eyes down at the robe. “What else was I supposed to do?"

Well, that sobered him up proper.

"Why didn't you ask _ me_? Unlike your and Al’s, my room isn’t sodding Gringotts. You could’ve just knocked.”

She gave him an odd look. "I didn't think I could."

Oh, Merlin. _ That's _ what Al had meant.

She didn't _ trust _ him. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she could ask him for help or, maybe it had and she’d discarded it immediately because she was afraid he’d pass judgement on her.

Which, granted, he _ had_, though probably not for the reasons she thought he had.

_ Soddit_.

"You _ can_," Scorp said slowly. "If you ever, ever need anything just… ask."

"But--" She seemed to be struggling with the concept. “I can’t--”

“You _ can_.” Scorp rolled his eyes and smothered down the petty bit of him that told him there was nothing he'd like less than being called in the middle of the night to dispose of the one-nighters of the girl he fancied. "Merlin knows I'm a git. But you're my friend. Which means if you're stuck in the damned loo again, just…" 

He let the words trail off.

He was setting himself up for a world of pain.

Paving his way to a bleak future.

A bleak, colourless future where he wasn't actually the one she was shagging but rather the guy who disposed of the blokes she was shagging. A future as a castrated doormat in the name of sodding trust and friendship.

"What,” Rose asked, “and have you kick out _ more _ people out in their underwear?"

The tone in her voice was incredulous and, honestly, he shared the sentiment. The very concept filled him with nausea.

"The bloke should've put on some clothes instead of parading around someone else's house half-naked," he said, arching an eyebrow at her. "But no. I won’t. Next time I'll just tell them you got called in for work, fix them a cup of tea and have them on their merry way _ with _clothes on."

"Next time," Rose repeated blankly.

"Next time and however many times you need."

Scorp offered her a small smile, aware that his heart was breaking. Just a little. Not too much, just a smidge.

Rose’s scowl was fierce. "There won't be a next time."

"But if there is--"

"Oh, will you _ shut up_." Rose spun around until she was facing him. “It’s not going to happen again.”

"Why not?" Scorp asked carefully. “He seemed like a decent bloke.”

“Probably.” Rose took a few decided steps forward and placed her empty mug on the counter. “But I don’t fancy him and it didn’t mean a damned thing.”

A metaphorical band-aid hovered tentatively near the small crack in his heart.

Scorp picked her cup and threw it into the sink, careful not to look at her. “Didn’t it?”

“_No_.”

Something about her tone made his eyes snap back to hers and Scorp’s defunct heart throbbed, just a little. 

Hope was a terrible thing.

"So you're not planning on waltzing off into the sunset with him?"

Rose let out a strangled little laugh that made his heart sing. "Merlin, no."

"Having 2.5 children?"

"Definitely not."

"_Good_."

“Mhhmmm.” Rose turned around and walked toward the door. She stopped, just under the threshold, throwing him a tentative smile. “Do _ you _ have someone you fancy?” 

It didn’t mean anything, he told himself. Nothing whatsoever. 

“Of course not,” he lied with practised ease. “Where would I even _ meet _ people?” 

“Where indeed.” 

Rose laughed and shook her head, turning and walking away. 

Was he projecting now or had she sounded… _ hurt _ again? 

He needed to get a grip on himself. This was reality and, in reality, Rose Weasley didn’t spare him a second glance or notice he was alive most of the time.

He was _ still _ setting himself up for a world of heartbreak, like the deranged idiot he was.

* * *

Except of course when she came out of the shower, he was on the living room couch, scribbling over the mess the Underpants-Wanker had made of his crosswords.

Not waiting for her. Not at all.

She folded her arms over the back of the couch and peered over his shoulder. She was no longer wearing his robes and she looked like a wet poodle, her usually poofy hair glued to her face in a terribly unattractive way. She smelled like lavender and vanilla which meant she’d pinched his shampoo again, completely ignoring his multiple complaints.

As her hair dripped gallons of water onto his shoulder, he allowed himself to fall in love with her, just for a second.

And then that second turned into two, then three and then settled in and made itself comfortable.

It wasn’t exactly an earth-shattering moment, more like quiet and not at all sudden, as if it had just been creeping around for months, maybe years and he’d only just allowed it room to breathe. 

“Ten across is ‘stasis’.” Her voice was a treacherous whisper. “You should know that.”

No, alright, _ this _ was the moment he fell in love with her. A thousand times over. 

“I _ do _ know that,” he said, matching her tone. “Why are we whispering?”

“I have no idea.” Rose rolled her eyes, her voice regaining its normal volume. “Merlin, he really did muck these up.”

Scorp rolled his eyes back. “He _ did_.”

She let out a small chuckle and Scorp turned his head slowly, his heart hammering in his chest. ‘_Falling _ in love’ was appropriate. 

It was like he was stumbling down a mountain, yelling all the way down.

She held his gaze for a second and flashed him a quick, tight smile. “_I’m _ sorry too, y’know,” she said, her voice quiet again. “Anyone would panic if they found someone--”

“I didn’t panic.” Scorp snorted. “I was just a wanker.”

“You _ are _ a wanker,” she corrected, giving his cheek a pat. “But we love you all the same.”

_ Ba-dum_.

He had to remind his overwhelmed heart that she didn't mean the mountain yelling, stumbling kind of love. More like the 'thanks for kicking my crossword-impaired one-nighter out before I gave myself hypothermia in the loo' love.

“Who’s ‘we’?” he asked nevertheless.

_ Ba-dum_.

Rose shrugged noncommittally. “You know, the royal we.”

“So you.” Scorp's grin was so wide it was starting to hurt a little. "_You _ love me."

_ Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. _

Rose rolled her eyes. "Don't get too smug. Unlike yours, my heart has room in it for more than what, three people? Four if we count Yardley?"

"You're _ easily _ on my top ten." Scorp sniggered. "And of course we don't count Yardley."

Rose's eyes locked with his and they both smiled. 

_ There_. That there, crammed in the space between two heartbeats, so quick that if he'd blinked he'd have missed it entirely. For a second, a tiny, fraction of a moment, her eyes had dropped to his mouth. 

She'd thought about kissing him. 

Which meant there was a small, remote shot that Rose wasn't _ completely _ oblivious to him. The look she was giving him now was everything but remote and oblivious, as she slowly retreated until her flushed cheek was resting on her hands. 

That nasty glimmer of hope almost had him reeling, sending his heart into overdrive. It was like that rush of adrenaline he got in the pitch, except instead of his brain tracking murderous Bludgers, every single cell in his body was calling out to _ her_.

He followed her, leaning back against the couch, his eyes still fastened to hers. With a calm he definitely did not feel, he leaned in slowly, giving her all the time in the world to move away. Except she didn’t and Scorp kept on inching forward until their foreheads finally bumped together.

Just a hairsbreadth away. He could practically _ feel _ her already, her ragged breath on his mouth and his hand reached out, ready to cup her face. All he had to do --

And then it was gone, all of it. No breath, no forehead, absolutely _ nothing_. Scorp opened his eyes to find her up on her feet, chewing her lower lip, her eyes haunted like she’d seen someone kick a puppy.

Which wasn’t too far from the truth because it felt like she’d just kicked him.

“I’m going back to bed,” she announced, her voice shaking. “See you later.”

Before he could even react she’d stormed out and locked herself in her room.

The feeling of certainty he’d gotten for a fraction of a second was all but crushed. All that remained was that pit in his stomach that told him, all but _ yelled _ at him… that he’d royally messed up. 

Somewhere along the way, _ somehow_, he’d ruined it. Either that or it had never been there in the first place.

Which meant he was either a prick or delusional. 

Judging by the look on her face, possibly a combination of both.

* * *

Rose slammed the door behind her, eyes still wide as saucers as she stared blankly at the door. 

He’d just tried to kiss her. That had definitely been a snog attempt. There had been intent to smooch. 

He _ wanted _ her.

And she’d run away. 

Not because she wasn’t equally enthusiastic about kissing him, simply because… _ well_. There were actual, completely unsurmountable reasons why she couldn’t kiss him.

Not today anyway.

For one she hadn’t brushed her teeth yet, which felt absolutely disgusting in a million different ways. 

Secondly, less than five hours ago she’d shagged another bloke, which also made up for about nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred ninety-nine of the million aforementioned ways.

Thirdly, and it had only occurred to her _ now_, she was supposed to be leaving for _ Greenland _ in a couple of months. A roll under the sheets with some random bloke wasn’t a problem, but… Scorp wasn’t some random bloke.

And while the whole Greenland thing had weighed pretty much zero in this particular decision-making process, it posed a definite hindrance to her snogging prospects.

Were it just the first two, she’d take maybe a week, shower a few thousand times, brush her teeth very thoroughly and then snog the living daylights out of him.

Assuming, of course, he’d let her. Assuming, of course, she’d ever have the stomach for it. 

One thing she was absolutely certain of: he’d _ wanted _her. 

All those loaded moments peppering their shared existence weren’t just in her head. All those afternoons sitting on the living room reading and studying together in silence. All the cups of tea he quietly handed her like he’d _ obviously _ made them for her, not himself. Not at all.

The stupid laundry. The baked goods. The curl tugging.

And now she _ knew_… and it was pretty much pointless. All of it, pointless. Rendered pointless less than twenty-four hours ago by a snap decision she _ still _ wasn’t all that sure about.

Of course she’d said ‘yes’, in what world wouldn’t she say ‘yes’? 

It was nonsensical really. It was absurd. The poster girl for anxiety was seriously debating whether or not she would _ like _ to do this. She should be glad for the chance, jump at the opportunity. Start planning her new life in Kangerlussuaq and just be glad someone had acknowledged her existence. 

She had no right to be _ picky_. Picky was for people who wanted something, not for people who had no idea of what they were doing in the first place.

She could be picky when she grew up, made something of herself. When she was capable of saying ‘no’ to blueberry muffins and lattes that random baristas foisted upon her.

Until then, she was going. Mostly because now that she’d said ‘yes’... she couldn’t possibly say ‘no’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are yet again :D
> 
> Idk, I love this chapter. I love it with all my heart and it's horrible.
> 
> For people who are reading this now, chapters 2-4 have been proofed and edited, so there may be some changes.


	24. Jesse Boot Was Right

**March 13, 07h00**

Scorp caught a glimpse of red curls zipping toward the bathroom. A few minutes later Rose resurfaced in all her wild-haired glory and took a few tentative steps into the living room.

Now, in-between pacing around and kicking himself raw, Scorp had put a lot of thought into this. 

He had considered lying. Playing it down, claiming it was a joke. If it sounded feeble in his own mind, he could only imagine just how pathetic it would sound coming out of his mouth.

Owning up to it maybe. ‘I just felt like it’ was true and remote enough that it sounded careless. Except of course carelessness would imply it didn’t matter. 

It _ mattered_.

The saner bit of him told him that carelessness was exactly what he wanted. His self-preservation threw a hissy fit and told him carelessness was what he _ needed_. 

“Alright, Malfoy?”

At the sight of her smile and the sound of her voice, all his careful considerations got shredded to bits.

She didn’t look mad. She didn’t look horrified. Instead, she sounded familiarly contrite, a bit like when she would huff off in a beastly strop and then come back a few minutes later, uncertain and apologetic. 

Their eyes locked and Scorp saw the hollowness in his eyes mirrored in hers, the same hesitation, the same indecision. Watched her as she balanced herself on the balls of her feet, hovering as if she wasn’t entirely sure of what she was doing. 

It boded well because neither did he. 

“Alright, Weasley,” he said, nodding once. “You?”

She nodded back and every one of his instincts told him to cross the chasm, close the distance, wrap his arms around her. Unfortunately, that had been the plan last time. And it had failed, rather terribly.

The air shifted around them. You could practically slice the awkwardness with a knife, make yourself a nice awkward sandwich.

Silence prevailed, so pregnant it was crying out for an epidural.

“So,” she started conversationally, somehow breaking through the vile quiet. “I meant to tell you, but with all the fuss I…” She chewed on her lower lip and narrowed her eyes as if assessing him for a moment. “I got myself an internship.”

Scorp blinked at the apparent _ non sequitur_.

“_Abroad_,” she specified after a few seconds, her mouth twitching into a wry smile. “In Greenland.”

His heart plummeted at the words and he blinked again.

Maybe it _ wasn’t _ a _ non sequitur_. 

“Oh?” 

“For a year.”

He leaned forward and pressed his hands together. “_Oh_.”

“Yep.”

“You’re _ leaving_,” he repeated, his brain still trying to catch up with the curveball it’d been thrown. “For Greenland?”

Greenland wasn’t _ abroad_, it was smack dab on the corner between Nobody Cares and Why Even. The whole country didn’t even have enough people throughout to merit a quidditch team, for Merlin’s sake.

Okay, maybe he was being petty about it, but he’d suddenly been possessed by a very intense dislike towards the entire sodding nation. This was how wars got started, he was sure.

“I’m guessing I’ll mostly be doing scut work,” she said, taking a few steps toward the couch. “Analysing arctic mites or whatever. I don’t know, there’s really nothing out there but snow--”

Scorp’s heart hammered in his chest as she slowly glided toward him and took a careful seat on the couch arm furthest from him. Close, but not too close. 

“-- I only got it yesterday so I’m still not sure about the particulars, I’ll need to check up on it.

_ “ _And you see,” she floundered on, sounding more helpless with every passing word, “it’s supposed to be a really great opportunity and I’ll be rubbing shoulders with some of the greatest minds of our time --” 

Her twitching fingers folded the seam of her grey sweater over and over and _ over _again. 

Scorp held his breath and nodded intently as if he were, in fact, listening. 

“-- and apparently it’s good for the resume and they’re convinced the cure for Mortis Breath is hidden out there somewhere--”

The truth was half of his brain was massively preoccupied with those hands and how easy it would be to hold them and make them stop their incessant fidgeting.

Instead, he nodded. And he half-listened. And he peeled his stupefied gaze away from her hands and focused them on her face, which honestly wasn’t much of an improvement.

“-- because this one bloke was taking a hike on the Ice Sheet and _ he _ got Mortis Breath, which means something may be lying there under the ice and now it’s melting and…”

Her words trailed off and she decisively turned to pull her legs between them, placing her socked feet on the very edge of the seat.

“So you see…” She wrapped her arms around her legs and put her chin to her knee. “Yeah. No, that’s it. S’all.”

He might be terribly mistaken, but it sounded like she was explaining herself. Maybe her reluctance had more to do with arctic mites than profound disgust at the thought of kissing him.

He took a deep breath. 

Panicked sense and self-preservation cringed as the glimmer of hope cheered him on.

_ Soddit. _

Scorp carefully shifted closer to her. There was still a nagging concern at the forefront of his head saying _ of course _she was explaining herself. That’s what platonic friends did when telling their non-platonic friends that they didn’t fancy a snog, they offered plausible excuses. 

He reminded himself that all creeps before and all creeps after must’ve felt the way he did, like they _ knew_, and that the only way he could stop himself from becoming one was making damned well sure he was right. 

“Sounds like a big deal,” he said softly. 

“Yes.” She let out a muffled little laugh that was devoid of all humour and folded her arms over her knees. “Yes, it is. A massive sodding deal.”

Something was wrong. Last week, she was practically bouncing up and down the halls because she’d been drafted to do _ triage _ at work. Today, she’d been offered a massive deal of an internship and she looked… well, she wasn’t bouncing.

“Are you panicking?” he asked carefully. “_Already_?”

“I thought that much would be obvious.” She pressed her lips together and scowled briefly before adding a glib, “Every time I think about it I want to hurl.”

She didn’t _ look _ it. 

Then again, he’d spent ten years thinking Rose Weasley was a stuck up cow instead of an awkward wreck so maybe he wasn’t the best judge.

“Figures.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “When are you leaving?”

“End of August,” she whispered, resting her forehead against her folded arms. “Maybe earlier.”

She smelled like toothpaste and his shampoo and she was so close. Oh-so-close. 

And at the same time, she was _ leaving, _so it was an awkward Schrödinger situation of being oh-so-close and simultaneously oh-so-bloody-far-away.

“I’m immeasurably proud, you know?” he asked softly, resting his elbow on the back of the couch and putting his chin to his hand. “You deserve it.”

“But _ do _ I?” She let out a snort. “What’s the criteria? I’m not exactly sure what about me screams tundra-ready.”

“You’ll do great,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll be _ fine_.”

“I’ll probably get lost and freeze my arse off.”

“Probably?” Scorp laughed. “_Definitely_.”

“Do not mock my survival skills,” Rose scolded and he was pleased to see her mouth ruefully curling into a grin. “I’m far more adaptable than you, Mr I Can’t Live Without Coasters.”

He’d done that. She was smiling because of him - or maybe in spite of him.

“Here I was planning the rescue and all I get is mockery.” Scorp let out an offended sniff. “You can die, see if I care.”

Sliding into easy banter like a glove, like they’d never left. Her arms had finally unfolded until she was leaning forward, blue eyes shimmering with humour.

“Well, Greenland _ is _ notorious for its lack of coasters, your mission was doomed from the start.” 

“A cold, lonely death,” Scorp said, shaking his head, “Tragic, really. Body never recovered, eaten by arctic bugs.”

“Mites, Scorp,” Rose corrected superciliously, leaning forward, “they’re mites.”

“Bugs, Rose,” Scorp mimicked. “They’re _ bugs_.”

So close. So. So. _ So_. Close.

And just then _ she _leaned in, head bent toward his, crowns of their foreheads touching. 

His first instinct was more relief than anything else: it _ wasn’t _ in his mind, oh, thank _ Merlin_.

Relief was soon muffled by the feeling of her lips moving against his, by her hands raking through his hair, gently at first and then tugging him to her. He had the presence of mind to move, one hand to her side for support, the other on her back to pull her closer, but only _ just_. She was spiralling and dragging him along with her and pretty soon there wasn’t a single cogent thought coursing through his brain that wasn’t ‘closer’ or ‘more’ or just plain ‘_yes_’.

_ Merlin_.

She kissed like the lunatic she was, alternating between brushes of confidence that threatened to topple them both over the edge of the couch and strokes of _ maddening _ indecision that had him grinning into the kiss and pulling her tighter against him so there was no possible room left for her to overthink this.

Any distance between them was a crime against humanity and needed to be eradicated _ right now_.

"Shit," she breathed, pulling an inch or two away. “Scorp--”

Her eyes were wide, her breath was ragged, her voice was husky in a way that sent shivers directly into several choice parts of him. She’d never looked more kissable in her entire life and he was including half an hour ago with the robe and the tea and the _ knickers_. 

“_What_?” 

Not exactly the most lyrical sentiment ever pronounced, nor the least impatiently worded, but in his defence, he was very, _ very _ preoccupied. Mostly with kissing her some more, which he did, rather thoroughly.

“Something,” _ kiss_, “about,” _ kiss, _ “insanity,” she said between half-stolen kisses. “Boot’s right.”

“_What_?” he asked incredulously, giving her a final kiss before reluctantly pulling away. “What does Boot have to do with it?”

Merlin, if she was thinking about Boot right now he was definitely failing. Not just as at this, he was essentially a failure as a man, as a person. 

Failing his entire sodden species.

“Boot.” She shook her head dismissively against his, grimacing lightly. “No, not Boot, I mean, yes Boot, but also _ Greenland_,” she finished, her voice dropping to a whisper like suddenly the word was Taboo.

Sodding Greenland. Scorp wouldn’t spit on it if it were on fire, which unfortunately seemed unlikely to happen considering the whole place was fire-proof.

“I could visit,” Scorp said, his head still swimming, his hands tightened into fists at her sides. “It wouldn’t be a whole year.”

That had apparently been the wrong thing to say. She leaned back and gave him a sceptical, sombre look. 

Scorp bit down on his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to slow down, get a grip on himself.

_ Breathe_.

What was he _ doing_? 

“Are we talking about the same thing?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly. “Or am I finally going mental?”

He was still reeling, entering a self-feeding spiral that he wasn’t entirely sure he could pluck himself out of. It was like the repressive floodgates had been opened and now all he could think about was her, her, _ her_.

"You’re definitely not mental," he said quietly, sitting back under her critical scrutiny and awkwardly taking the chance to give his pants a much-needed adjustment. “No more than usual anyway.”

“Good, because I’m… Look, I can’t do this.” She gave him a frustrated little grimace. “I can’t. I just…”

“Can’t?” he offered wryly.

“Yeah.” She gave him a careless shrug loaded with meaning. “Can’t.” She stopped and frowned, her face gaining something of a grim quality. “_Won’t_.”

“Won’t _ what_?”

He felt like there was some clarification necessary here. If he looked back on any given point of this conversation, he was sure he wouldn’t find a single sentence that could compromise either of them. 

There was a glossy sheen of _ nothing _ covering a whole lot of _ everything_.

She rolled her eyes. “_This_,” she said blythely, throwing a look loaded with meaning at their hands, which, somewhere in the past minute, had gravitated toward one another, their pinkies _ somehow _ becoming entwined.

Whoops.

Scorp rolled his eyes dismissively at the hand-holding. “_This _ isn’t new.”

“No, it isn’t.” She held her hand upwards and his own followed, dangling helplessly from her pinky. “Which begs the question: why are we holding hands?” She was looking back at him with a mix of amusement and frustration, waving both their hands around. “What are we doing?” 

“Technically, we’re holding... _ pinkies_,” Scorp clarified, biting down a smile as his finger held fast, refusing to be shrugged aside. “Is it a problem?”

“Look, here’s the thing: you might think I’m a tart.” She grabbed his finger with her free hand and forcefully detached it from hers. Except he took the opportunity to grab _ that _ hand. She let out an impatient huff. “But _ I _ don’t go around doing this.”

“In what world do I think you’re a tart?” he asked, feeling righteously offended for both her and him. “And I don’t either, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Don’t you?”

Scorp’s shoulders shook with laughter. “No.”

“Oh, come on, Malfoy.” She gave him an appropriately incredulous look. “You get around.”

As flattering as her confidence in his ‘getting around’ was, the very thought was ludicrous and Scorp outright laughed in her face. “I don’t,” he said. “I really,” chuckle, “_truly_,” chuckle, “_don’t_.”

“Hold hands or get around?”

“Both.” Scorp rolled his eyes, laughter stopping abruptly. “_Either_.”

“So this is --” She lifted their entwined hands and eyed him levelly as she tried to find an appropriate word. “-- _ not _ normal?”

“Nothing about this is _ normal_,” Scorp said, shaking his head with confusion and disbelief and outright affront. “You _ ran away_. And now you’re running away to _ Greenland _ which, incidentally, is a _ lot _ worse than just the loo.” 

“You can’t possibly think I’m moving 3000 miles to a frozen hell because of _ you_.” She dropped their hands to her lap, looking like twitchy anxiety personified. “Scorp, I just--”

He could see her eyes flickering, charting her escape and his hold on her tightened.

“If you run again, I’m tackling you,” he threatened darkly. “Come on, talk. We were getting good at it.”

Rose’s face was one fierce scowl. “How’s this on me? I figured I was the only one who --”

“_You_? You barely notice I’m alive! I’m the one making an absolute _ cake _ of myself --”

“I reckoned you did that with all the girls!” 

She sounded as frustrated as he did and, all the while, their hands stood there between them, clasped tightly in one another, like they knew exactly what they were doing and Rose and Scorp were simply expected to... sort it out.

“_What _ girls?!” Scorp asked tartly. “All the girls I have hiding in the closet? The ones under the couch? The ones --”

“Come on, Malfoy, you _ date_.” Rose’s eyes were accusing. “You go out with your perfectly manicured pureblood, leggy blondes and chat nasally about Descartes with them and --”

“Rose, you literally_ just _ shagged a bloke.”

She tried to slip her hand from his grasp, an angry flush on her face. “I _ did_. And I’m not going to apologise for it, so if you think you can make me feel bad about it, you can shove it.” 

“Do I _look_ bothered to you?” he asked, his fingers tightening around hers. “_No_. I don’t care about the leggy blondes and I certainly don’t care about,” and here he popped his chin in the vague direction of the fireplace, “_that_,” referring obviously to The Underwear Tosser.

“You don’t,” she repeated, still sounding unconvinced. 

“I couldn’t care less if I _ tried_.” Scorp sighed and brushed a hand through her hair, his eyes crinkling with delight when his fingers got momentarily stuck in the knotty mess. “I do, however, care about _ you_.”

She didn’t seem particularly unhappy about this development, so he took advantage of her distraction to really sink his fingers further into the bouncy, lively, chaotic mess that were her curls, tracing the back of her neck.

He’d been obsessing about her hair for months.

Fine, not just her hair.

“_Really_?” Slightly more convinced. Encouraging, even, like she’d momentarily forgotten she was supposed to be angry. “You _ do_?”

It would be a bit sad if he admitted just how much his life revolved around her. 

How he lingered way-y-_ y _ past his bedtime to catch a glimpse of her, which, he suspected, was partially at the root of why his schedules had been oh-so-massively annihilated lately. 

How his heart would leap when she walked into the door already griping about her day like she was simply resuming an interrupted conversation. 

How his _ everything _would collapse in on itself every time she decided to skip around the living room with her legs half in her pants as she looked for her shoes, which incidentally always were in opposite ends of the house.

“_Yes_, you lovely trainwreck,” was what he said instead. “_Obviously_.”

“Well, _ bugger_.” She eyed him warily for a couple of seconds. “Now what?"

Her eyes dropped to his mouth again. “I’m sure we’ll think of something,” he said solemnly.

“Terrible idea.” She shook her head and placed her hand smack on his forehead to stop him from carrying on with his admittedly magnificent plan. “I’m leaving in five months.”

“Then we’ll have five lovely months ahead of us.” Scorp shook her hand away from his forehead. “And then we’ll resume when you get back. It’ll be like you were never gone, except, y’know, more enthusiastic.”

She was looking at him as if he was certifiable. “You’d _ wait_?”

Hearing it out of her mouth made it sound so much crazier than it did in his mind. 

Maybe he _ was _ barking mad, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. It wasn’t like his heart was dead set on shagging his way through London. What was he going to do, miss the good old days of his singlehood, back when he could… oh wait, that’s right, he _ hated _ people and she was the first girl he’d been interested in for _ years_.

“I don’t see why not.” Scorp shrugged. “My calendar is very open, I’m sure I could slip some pining in.”

“You’re being an idealistic ponce.” She rolled her eyes and got up to her feet. “It’s one _ year_.”

His fingers were still laced with hers and he gave them a mild tug. “It’s _ just _ one year.”

Well, now he was quoting Al. Lovely. 

She dug her heels into the floor to stop herself from being pulled in, clearly torn between disbelief and… well, if he squinted very hard, she almost looked happy.

Wishful thinking, of course.

“You _ can’t_,” she said simply. “Scorp, you can’t --”

“Look, you can do a lot of things but you can’t tell me not to pine if I choose to pine.” Scorp stood and cupped her face with his hands. “Now that I thought about it, I’m rather committed to it. I always thought I’d make a fantastic Byronic hero, brooding and all.”

Rose stared blankly at him for a few seconds and he quirked a defiant eyebrow at her. 

“Won’t work out,” she said quietly, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. “We break up and then what?”

Her free hand gingerly traced his shirt, and Scorp's heart practically purred. 

Fine, not just his heart.

“I already have one ex-girlfriend I’m unapologetic friends with,” Scorp pointed out, placing a kiss on her forehead. He was delighted when she didn’t stop him, which all but forced him to immediately place another and another until their noses were touching. “If it goes sour you’ll have someone to commiserate with about how terrible I am in the sack.”

She seemed to be torn between laughter and frustration. “Merlin, _ no_.”

“Why not?” 

He offered her his most dazzling grin just before moving aside to place a small kiss on her neck and laughing when she leaned into him, her eyes fluttering shut, letting out a small breathy sigh that made every cell in his body tighten. He kissed her again just to check if it yielded similar results and was ecstatic to find that _ yes_, yes it did.

“This is by far,” she whispered, “the _ stupidest _ thing --”

He sniggered into her neck, teeth raking gently against her soft skin. “Give me _ one _ good reason why it’s stupid.”

“Quit distracting me, you wanker,” she groaned, and Scorp stopped in his tracks at her tone, eyes wide, hands hovering. “And if you _ have _ to ask, then… the _ ick _ factor.”

Scorp’s eyebrows shot upwards and he moved away from her. “The _ what_?”

“You know. _ That_.” She jutted her chin toward the fireplace and it took his brain a while to process it was in reference to Underpants-Wanker. “I brushed my teeth but --”

She let out a small apologetic smile and Scorp’s heart leapt because she was lovely and just an unholy mess. 

_ His _ unholy mess. 

“Again: couldn’t care less.” He grinned wildly, leaning in to kiss her and stopping at the very last second, repeating it once again, just in case she had missed it, “I _ really _ don’t care. I’d kiss you if you’d just been scuba diving in a septic tank.”

“You self-involved prat, I’m not worried about _ you_,” she clarified, pulling a face. He scowled and let go of her, taking a step back at the same time as she did. “I’m worried about _ me_. I can’t get into this right now. Not when… Why am I even explaining this to you? Fuck’s sake, you should _ know_.”

_ Oh_.

Of course. _ He _ was the raving lunatic here.

“You’re apparently fine with the pining. _I’m_ _not_,” she enunciated, scowling back. “And I’m not going to subject myself to...”

Her frown only grew deeper and Scorp rolled his eyes, finally allowing the last of his optimism to meet its demise. 

It was becoming clearer with each passing second that while he, the Consummate Imbecile, Prince of Cretins, was willing to wait if it meant having a go at it... she wasn’t. 

Because unlike him, _ she _ was sane. 

Merlin, he’d really gone and let out all of _ his _ particular brand of cracked, hadn’t he? Somehow in the last few months, his heart had latched onto her in that obsessive way it did and of _ course _ she didn’t feel the same. 

She _ couldn't_.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said quietly, hand reaching out to him. “I _ do _ like you. Just…”

Just not enough to actually give it a shot. She liked him, _ but not that much_.

He carelessly took a step back, dodging her hand. “You’re right of course.”

Every word out of his mouth was like a punch to the gut. His self-preservation was giving him a smug 'I told you so' right about now.

“I _ am_?” She stared blankly at him for a few seconds, before shaking herself. “No, of course I am. It’s _ non compos_.” 

Scorp simply nodded.

“Five months ago we barely tolerated each other,” she pointed out.

He tilted his head and gave her a humourless smirk.

“It’s hormones,” she continued, looking at him for reassurance. “Just hormones.”

“Right.” 

He internally rolled his eyes. No, it wasn’t _ just _ hormones. 

“And we’ll still be friends…?” She stood in front of him, her mouth pressed into a tight line. “We’ll still talk. This changes nothing.”

He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince him or herself. In either case, she was failing miserably.

“_Right_?” she repeated, her smile gone and replaced with worry.

“What are you, mental?” he said, waving a dismissive hand and letting himself fall back onto the couch. “Would be bizarre not to, really. All that hard work gone to waste.”

“_I’m _ mental?” she asked, giving him a small affectionate smile before letting out a snort and adding, “Merlin, like you’d _ really _ wait.”

Scorp could feel his heart breaking a million times in a single heartbeat.

She sighed. “Look --”

“It’s _ fine_,” he said, putting on an easy, practised smile. “Trust me, I get it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.” 

Taking a Bludger to the face hurt far less than this did. 

Speaking of Bludgers... His eyes drifted to the lifeline that was his gear bag and he realised he did have a way out of this. 

All he had to do was go out there and get a life. Which somehow sounded easier right now than staying here. 

He made a big show of looking at the clock before getting up to his feet again. “It’s almost eight.” He offered Rose a passing smirk. “You’ll have to excuse me, but if I have a very pressing date with my Bludgers, which, I realise now that I’ve said it out loud, sounds rather terrible.”

She didn’t stop him. Didn’t say anything. She just watched him wordlessly, a small crease between her eyebrows as if she was still trying to process what happened. 

When Scorp stepped into the fireplace, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so rotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, what a rollercoaster of hellish emotion. Thoughts? Concerns? Incoherent squealing? Let me know in the reviews so my ego can feast on them while writing whatever's next on the queue. Several notes:
> 
> 1) Heads-up: NaNoWriMo starts today, which means I'll be focusing most of my attention on one of my other projects (hence the early chapter of WS) called Spectacularly Stupid (at least that was the initial plan but now I'm having Second ThoughtsTM so I may end up writing something else entirely). Whatever I do end up writing will undoubtedly be scorose so remember to subscribe if you're interested!
> 
> 2) For those who missed it, I published a new scorose one-shot called Crumpled and Sharp on Oct 26th. Pretty darned cute if I say so myself, so go read that and tell me what you think!
> 
> As usual thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review the last chapter, namely LordLockhart1770, Maria Isabel and Arwin_Fred. Special thanks as ever to fearinourminds, who helped push this chapter through by being her amazing, supportive self and to RonsGirlFriday who's the writer I want to be when I grow up.


	25. Hell Is Also A Four Letter Word

**March 20th 2028**

Al was appropriately ecstatic at the revelation. Unlike Jesse, he didn't feel the need to debate Greenland's merits _ ad nauseam _and, unlike Penny, he didn't feel compelled to shit all over the interest (or lack thereof) of the subject matter.

Instead, the kitchen around them flurried with floating glasses, ice and several bottles dancing in front of her eyes.

“Do you suppose you want Firewhiskey?” Sorting through the chaos was the master puppeteer, perusing the passing labels with the keen eye of a _ connoisseur_. “Or would you rather Dragon’s Breath? Uncle Charlie brought in a half dozen bottles over Christmas--”

“Al, it’s nine,” she pointed out. “In the _ morning_.”

“Too early for a proper drink, I suppose,” Al said, eyeing her with reproach. “Butterbeer it is.”

The cyclone stopped, the rejected items grudgingly sorting themselves back into their places.

“What part of ‘it’s nine am’ am I losing you on?” 

“It’s not like you treat your body like a temple,” Al chided, cracking open two butterbeers, “I don’t see why you’d want to start now. Plus, it’s technically still night for you, so...”

Rose glared at him but took the proffered beer anyway. “My dad’s right, you _ are _ a bad influence.”

“You’re about twenty-one years too late, all the influencing’s been done.” Al grinned, holding his beer in a toast. “To stuffy paperwork and Winter Wonderlands!”

Rose offered him a half-hearted smile and held her own beer up faintly before setting it back down on the countertop. 

“Oh, the suspense,” Al mocked, clinking his beer against hers, “please, don’t leave us hanging. What’s wrong with you?”

“Sorry,” Rose said thinly, peeling the wet label off her beer and quietly shredding it to pieces. “S’all still a little fresh.”

“Freaking out, are we?” Al gave her a knowing smile. “Come on, Rose, you’ll be fine. C’mere.” He wrapped an arm around her and Rose nuzzled into him, arms circling his waist. 

"S'not just that, it's--"

Before she could start spewing all of her misgivings about the prospective internship, Al interrupted, “Do you suppose I can come visit? I’m thinking March. Or April. _ And _ April. And May. Christmas for sure.” 

“You’ve known for less than ten minutes.” Rose let out a mirthless chuckle into his shirt. “How can you _ already _ be sussing out the travel benefits?”

“There’s gotta be _ some _ advantage to you being halfway across the world.” There was a smile in his voice and another on his face as he let go of her. “Plus, I’ve always fancied seeing the Northern Lights. I can take Scorp and we’ll have a nice holiday, it’ll be smashing.”

Just his name filled her with a terrible sense of foreboding. 

Frenzied steps echoed in the hallway and then stopped. Then resumed, then stopped. 

“Speak of the devil.” 

At this point, Rose was almost sure Scorp hadn’t told Al anything about their little… uh… situation. ‘Almost’ being the operative word. Even if Scorp had told him, odds were Al was simply doing nothing about it. Maybe he was waiting for _ her _ to tell him about it, who knew?

Rose scowled, tilting her chin in the general direction of the living room and their stomping flatmate. “What’s… uh... up with that?”

She doubted she could be more obvious if she had ‘I kissed our flatmate and then told him to bugger off’ tattooed to her forehead.

“Stark, raving, barking mad.” Al shook his head, lips pursed into a line. “Being stuck in the house is really doing a number on him.”

“What do you mean, ‘stuck in the house’? He’s barely in _ at all_!”

Al frowned and necked the rest of his butterbeer. “Overcompensating, is my best guess.” 

She shouldn’t want to know, but also? She _ needed _to. And that meant some subtle prodding was in order.

“Where’s he _ been_?”

Or not so subtle prodding.

“'Out', apparently,” Al said, rolling his eyes. “At his parents, I reckon. Kate's. Yard’s Place has seen quite the odd bit of him lately. He’s been going out with us, probably more times than he has in his entire adult life combined.”

“So you’re not concerned?” Rose looked down at the label she’d been unconsciously tearing to shreds. “He’s… alright?”

“Oh no, far from it,” Al said, floating another beer and gallantly handing her his own soggy label, which she gingerly started ripping apart. “He _ hates _ going out. Hates people in general.”

“Oh, come off it.” Rose let out a tinny laugh. “He doesn’t ‘hate’ people.”

“As his very best friend for ten years, I beg to differ,” Al said drily. “He’s only giving it a go because he can’t stand the alternative. Too much energy, nowhere to shove it. I had suggestions but--”

_ Urgh_.

“So he’s… going out?” Rose tried to keep her tone light and only mildly interested. “With you? And Yardley?”

“Why, do you _miss_ _him_?” Al gave her an amused look. “You do, don’t you?”

“Do us a favour and shove off, will you?” 

“So you _ don’t _ miss him, then? He’ll be devastated to hear.”

She wished. The truth was she _ did _ miss him. She felt robbed of something she barely had a right to. She’d pushed him out and now he was… _ out_. 

He’d also lied, like a lying liar. He’d claimed they’d be fine and they clearly were not. Whenever he saw her he’d slant her a toe-curling grin and then he’d be right back gone again. 

The stomping resumed across the corridor and they waited with bated breath… only for it to stop and then resume once again.

“The place just feels empty without his ego lying around, is all,” Rose said quietly.

“Don’t worry, I give it another a week at best,” Al assured her. “He’s been so obnoxious he managed to chase away Yardley’s new squeeze. If he doesn’t end it soon, Yards just might end _ him _.”

Scorpius terrorising women was far better than the alternative, which was him falling madly in love with them. 

It almost made her sympathise with the woman. _ Almost_. 

“Scorp laid it out on her?”

“Practically filleted her. He’d been doing so well recently, too,” Al said, chugging the last of his beer. “By fillet, I mean with words, of course, but y’know. _Scorpius_ _Words_.”

Rose let out an ‘oof’ and shook her head. “Poor girl.”

“He’s been in a mood all week.” Al conceded after a small silence, “To be fair on him, Scorp’s tolerance for stupid was being sorely tested.”

He’d been in a _ mood_.

Rose nodded, unable to help the small smile. “Do _ you _ like her?”

“Eh, I liked Evelyn better but this one’s fine too. Then again I like them all,” Al said waving his hand dismissively. “They--”

“What a load of rot!” Scorp’s voice cried out from across the corridor before the prat himself emerged with a grin, face smudged with dirt. “You _ tolerated _ her at best.” 

Rose’s heart fell to her feet. 

Bugger. Even with the bags under his eyes, he looked… gorgeous. Maybe more so than she remembered. Had he gotten _ handsomer_? How in the world was that fair?

“Alright, Weasley?”

She could feel her pulse quicken as his eyes met hers. His mouth curled into a knicker-dropping grin and Rose found herself smiling back in a purely Pavlovian response. “Alright, Malfoy.” 

This was out there? Every _ night_? For every woman in Britain to _ gawk _ at? 

It wasn’t bad enough that sodding Holly had written a piece about him that made him sound like Prince Charming, _ no_, now Prince Charming was out there for every single Amber, Jeanette and, Merlin forbid, _ Penny _ to sink their claws into. 

“Now, now, Scorp,” Al chided mockingly, clearly delighted that he was choosing to join them. “Just because someone achieves historical levels of stupidity, that doesn’t mean they’re not _ likeable _ ... it just means you go through great pains to be seated _ away _ from them.”

Rose nearly choked on the beer she’d been swallowing. Scorp, on the other hand, chose to ignore the latest issue of Al’s Dubious Wisdom. “Isn’t it a bit early for--” He gestured at the empty bottles on the kitchen counter. “-- whatever’s happening here?”

“Rich, considering you've spent the week giving alcoholic coma an inferiority complex,” Al said, a smile on his face. “Are those… gardening gloves?”

“My mum asked me to help sort out her Hellebores,” Scorp said dismissively, a defiant glint in his eye as Al burst into laughter. “_Yes_, I’m gardening, you prat. Stop looking so bloody pleased about it.”

He sounded exactly the same as he ever did, not a hint of hurt in him. Like everything between them _ was _ the same just as he’d promised. Then again, what had she expected? For him to pine and mope and suffer?

Yes. The honest and highly irrational answer to that question was _ yes_. Was it too much to ask that he look the slightest bit fazed about it? It had barely been a week, she felt like a little moping was in order.

She’d been doing her fair share of it, so why the hell wouldn’t he?

“Rose’s leaving, hence the beer,” Al said, clearly itching to let him into the latest gossip, since he was choosing to let Scorp, The Gardener go unmocked. “For Greenland,” he clarified unhelpfully. Rose turned to glare at him and he shrugged, looking the very opposite of apologetic. “What, you weren’t planning on telling him, that it?”

How on earth was she supposed to tell him she’d fessed up to Scorp _ before _ she’d talked to Al? 

She watched with wonder as Scorp shook his head with disbelief. “Greenland?”

He was an _ excellent _liar.

“She’s off to study arctic bugs,” Al continued, mockery light in his voice, clearly thrilled to be the one to break it to him. “Our _ nerd_.”

“Not bugs,” Rose said faintly, “mites.”

“Well, if it’s _ mites _ then it’s a completely different matter,” Scorp said glibly. “For how long?”

How? How was he doing it? 

“A year starting August,” Al said cheerfully. “It’s such a great opportunity. I'm proud, aren't you proud?”

Rose forcefully peeled her eyes from Scorp’s. She turned to glare at Al, who smiled back sweetly at her and, for a blood-curdling second, she wondered if he _ knew_. 

“Elated,” Scorp said calmly, apparently immune to Al’s prodding. “August? That’s soon.”

“Just around the corner.” Al got up to his feet. “I’m going for a whizz.”

The innocent smile that screamed intent was still plastered on his face. 

“Al…”

"Be back in a minute," he said, fluffing Scorp's hair on the way out. “You two should catch up.”

“Arctic mites, huh, oh, yes, how _ fascinating_,” Scorp said blankly, turning to face her the second Al was out of hearing range. “_You hadn’t told him yet_?” he whispered. “It’s been a week!”

“Sorry,” she said, keeping her eyes trained at the doorway. “I wasn’t sure if you’d told him about --” She made a small gesture between them and grimaced. “Y’know. So I was sort of keeping a low-profile in case --”

“Of course I haven’t _ told _ him.” Scorp scoffed, as if the very concept was absurd. “Don’t worry, you’re in the clear.”

“I’m sorry,” Rose said softly. “I really should’ve given you a heads up.”

He flashed her a quick tight smile. “Are _ you _ going to tell him?”

The stain of dirt on his cheek was endearing and his eyes made everything about her flutter madly. 

“Maybe. I don’t know.” After a few seconds, "No. There's nothing to tell."

“Right,” he drawled after a small silence. He got up to his feet and grabbed hold of his discarded glove. “Well, I’m off.”

“You’re _ leaving_?” she asked, heart sinking to her feet. “But--”

“Mum’s Hellebores await.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tell him I’ll be at Yards’ by seven. See ya.”

And, just like that, he was gone. 

* * *

**March 22nd 2028**

“I’m here to see The Minister,” Rose said, forcing a smile onto her face as the tall man in the sharp tailored robes gave her a once over. 

She thought man, but he couldn’t be that much older than her. He just held himself like he was very conscious of his own importance, a bit like Alec Sauvage. Like she should be thankful that he was taking the time to talk to her.

She continued, “I don’t have an appointment but --”

“The Minister is _ very _ busy today.” 

Was this the new Gatekeeper? He looked terribly efficient. How long was it since she’d been here?

She should’ve called in to confirm. Bugger, she should’ve double-checked. Maybe her mum was having one of _ those _ days, the ones that buried her alive and she had to crawl her way out. 

The second she thought about that, Rose realised she really, _ really _ needed to see her.

Her mum would understand. 

“She’s always busy,” Rose said. “I’m--”

“Too busy to receive walk-ins,” he clarified. 

His tone remained condescending and Rose felt something angry inside her stirring. She might not have any defences against nice cafeteria workers, but she sure as hell had them against snooty Ministry workers who thought they were the shit. 

“You don’t say,” she said coldly. “Regardless, I’m sure you’ll be able to squeeze me in.”

“You are?” Again with the tone. “Under what name?”

She could see the man frantically trying to place her. 

She wondered if that’s how her patients felt in triage, like chunks of meat being assessed for quality.

Few people actually were allowed to Floo directly to the Minister’s waiting room and her permissions were still intact, despite the fact that she hadn’t used them in years. Not since she’d started at St Mungo’s anyway. 

That and she looked like she’d been run over by the Knight Bus, which explained why he was _ still _ giving her such a tough time. Rose was pretty sure even if he did know what she looked like from pictures - and he probably did - he’d be hard-pressed to recognize her under the all-nighter and overall dishevelled look she’d decided to wear for her midterms.

“Try under --”

“Rose? _ Rosie_?!”

Rose breathed out a relieved sigh at the familiar voice and whipped around to meet the large woman’s smile with one of her own. Soon she was enveloped in warm arms that smelled faintly of pine. “Mrs Bennet. How are you doing?”

_ Thank Merlin. _

“You’re too thin.” Mrs Bennet let go of her and held her by the arms, assessing her in a way that had nothing to do with The Robes’ sneer. “Girls these days always think they need to go on diets. My Maria’s always on some newfangled diet, I swear, she’s _ this _close to disappearing.”

“I’m not on a diet,” Rose said, letting out a small chuckle. “I promise.”

“Did you come in to see your mum?”

The Robes let out a sharp intake of breath and Rose couldn’t help but feel a little petty delight at his distress.

_ Wanker_.

Rose nodded. “I don’t actually _ have _ an appointment. Was a little spur of the moment and I Flooed in. Mr…”

“Hart,” he offered. “Felix Hart. You can call me Felix.”

Wanker.

“Mr _ Hart_,” she continued with a soft smile, pointedly ignoring You-Can-Call-Me-Felix Hart, “says mum’s busy today.”

“Never too busy for family, I’m sure,” he said, holding out a hand. “You’re _ Rose_. I’ve only _ just _ met your brother. You two look nothing alike.”

Lucky for him. Hugo would’ve fed Mr Hart to his dragons and laughed as they tore his screaming body apart. Rose, unfortunately, wasn’t Hugo and her limit was passive-aggressiveness and polite scorn that would never be misconstrued as insulting. 

Mrs Bennet’s hands were still holding her by the shoulders and Rose awkwardly twisted herself to shake the proffered hand. “I’ve been told.”

He was in full Fluffing Mode now. “I’m _ so _ pleased to make your acquaintance. The Minister tells us you’re going to Greenland for the Kangerlussuaq study?”

How had her mother found out? 

No, that was a stupid question. The better question was how could she have thought her mother _ wouldn’t _ know?

Rose’s anaemic smile was apparently not enough to discourage Mr Hart.

“Such a wonderful opportunity,” he continued, all his Flattery Systems at full power. “The Minister has been telling everyone how proud she is.”

Rose’s heart fell to her feet. “She _ has_?”

Mrs Bennet’s arms were wrapped around her once again. “Of course she has, poppet. Not _ everyone_, of course,” and here she threw an admonishing look toward Mr Such-A-Wonderful Opportunity Hart, “your mum was never a busybody. But to some of us. We’re all _ very _ proud,” she said, giving her a motherly squeeze that pushed the bile straight up her throat before letting her go. “Our little Rosie. After Hugo it was only a matter of time, really, you two were always meant for great things.”

Rose plastered a small smile on her face. “Right.”

_ Bugger all_.

In the end, she managed to flee before they marched her straight into her mum’s office -- she wasn’t entirely sure she could face any more _ pride _ right now. 

She wondered if her dad knew.

90-10 chance, really. Like Mrs Bennet said, her mum wasn’t a tattletale, but she couldn’t expect her mum _ not _ to tell her dad. She’d been skirting Friday dinners for a while now, and she understood why her mum would keep up with her comings and goings.

Which meant if her mum had told her dad, whatever misgivings he might have on the subject had been smoothed over by now, morphed into a glossy, sheeny, ‘I’m so proud’ instead of the unsupportive ‘What, how dare you desert us, you’re grounded forever and you will never leave this house ever again’ she’d been craving.

It was bloody disappointing. They all just _ knew _ and they’d all made up their minds about it.

All Rose wanted was someone who would poke the damned bubble of pride and accomplishment. All she wanted was _ one _ person who’d ask “Really? You? Greenland?” and confirm she wasn’t insane for having second thoughts.

Was that too much to ask?

* * *

**March 28th 2028**

She’d come close to spilling her guts to Al a couple of times the last week, but the whole Greenland thing had dominated most of their chats lately. 

He was being _ supportive_, the git. 

Her parents had reacted much along the same lines, banding together in unflinching support, and so had every Weasley-Potter-Granger-Lupin-Delacour. 

The subject had soon been lost in the noise in favour of more exciting news, like Molly the Third having said ‘da-da’ much to the Teddy’s glee (he wouldn’t shut up about it), Molly The Second’s upcoming engagement (still new enough that Jack was still getting smothered with affection from every angle, lest he change his mind), plans for Freddie’s girlfriend coming over to visit for the first time (and subsequent plans to pester the girl made by every cousin with an axe to grind) and Dominique’s exciting promotion at The Ministry (that she couldn’t really talk about because, y’know, Unspeakable, not that it kept anyone from wild speculation).

Her extended family didn’t have enough brain space to care and everyone else was ready to slap a bunch of stamps on her forehead and portkey her over to Greenland direct.

Anyway. She knew she shouldn’t have mentioned it, but she had to tell _ someone_.

“Let me see if I have this straight,” Penny asked, pressing her entwined hands against her forehead and taking a deep breath. “You said ‘_no_’?”

She already regretted it.

“Obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes and stomping down the anguish she’d been lugging around before it reared its ugly head. “It’s not a big deal.”

Or it wouldn’t be, after her heart was all done sobbing. 

“I’m torn between smacking you and hexing you,” Penny said, her eyes narrowed. “The man tells you he’ll _ wait for you _ and you say ‘_no_’? And now you’re whining that he’s avoiding you?”

“First off, I’m not whining, I’m just commenting.” Rose squinted at the patient file in her hand for a second before her eyes met Penny’s again. “Secondly… Pen, I couldn’t just… _ go with it_. I’m leaving in five months. Four and a little now.”

Penny was smiling as ever but she was doing it in a way that made Rose’s hair stand at attention. “Why the hell not? That is one fit thoroughbred you’re _ not _ riding. Do you have any idea how angry I am? ”

“Do you have any idea how... shit _ I _ feel?” 

“Cheers,” Penny said grimly. “If you were feeling great about it I might’ve spat at you.”

Far from it. She felt like roadkill. She felt like that nasty black thing that appears on the cracks of your bathroom tiles. She felt like a partially digested hairball. She felt all possible variants of dragon dung.

“I’m definitely not.” She shook her head, teeth dragging across her lower lip. “I like him. I really like him, but I can’t…” She grimaced. “_Long-distance_.”

Foul, overbearing concept. It wasn’t just distance, no, it was _ long-distance_. Like people might be okay with distance, but not the _ long _ kind. Rose certainly wasn’t.

“I’ve done long-distance,” Penny mused before letting out a snort. “Granted, it was only for a week. And only because I _ really _ wanted to shag him, so I had to sort of bullshit my way to his dick.” She let out a sigh. “Oh, _ Claude_.”

What if that was what _ he _was doing? Sort of bullshitting his way to her vagina? 

It must’ve shown in her face because Penny’s smile dropped instantly. “No, pet, I’m sure it’s not the case with him. And even if it was… I’d just choose to be flattered, really.” 

Rose let out a mirthless laugh. If he’d _ been _ bullshitting his way to a shag, she probably would have run with it. 

She’d kissed him on impulse and then he’d gone and ruined it by being an insane, lovable prat. Insane, but also… _ straightforward _ like no twenty-one year old had the right to be. Like he knew exactly what he wanted and any and all obstacles to it were simply irrelevant. And what he wanted, for some incomprehensible reason, was her.

It was _ terrifying_. And the more insane words came out of his mouth, the more she panicked because he was starting to _ make sense_.

Penny continued, “And you _ did _ say ‘no’, so...” 

So it wasn’t like she could gripe about it, yes, thank you, Penny, for all that salt on the gaping wound. 

"What I still don't get,” Penny enunciated ruthlessly, “is why the hell not."

“I’m twenty-one, Pen. I can’t just --”

“You’re almost twenty-two. And, for that matter, what’s age have to do with anything?” Penny’s tone was sharp. “You fancy him. You’ve been walking around with a stupid grin for two months and now he jolly well fancies you back and you’re--”

“_Exactly_.” Rose was aware of the heat rushing to her chest and all the makings of an ugly cry stinging her eyes. “Pen, I fancy him to bits. If I fancy him to bits now, how do you think I’ll feel in four months after…”

Rose’s voice finally failed her, incapable of going on and saying the words. 

_ After she fell head over heels in love with him. _

There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she would. She’d had a glimpse of what it might’ve been like and her heart had almost exploded. 

One thing was low-key pining, maybe a snog. Another thing entirely was… he _ cared_, apparently more than he reasonably should. A girl could get suckered into it and happily drown and Rose was doing her best just to stay afloat.

In life. In _ general_.

“After you’ve had a taste of the magic in his pants?” Penny clearly wasn’t as fanciful about it. “After you’ve become proficient in horizontal duelling? After you’ve had your fanny thoroughly cleared of all the cobwebs?” Penny let out a sound between a whimper and a hiss. “I swear to Merlin, you’re as daft as it gets. You’re going to feel shite anyway, might as well feel shite while getting snogged raw. And I say snogged, but I really mean--”

“Eww!” Rose covered her ears with her hands and ignored the fact that she could still see Penny mouthing all sorts of obscenities. “I _ know_, alright?” 

Oh, she _ knew_. 

Every time she remembered how he’d felt pressed against her, his fingers in her hair and his teeth on her neck she just about had to go take a cold shower herself. 

“Then why the feck aren’t you straddling that piece of Honeydukes’ Finest right now?”

Because this was Real Life, not a dream. 

Because she was scared.

Because she wasn’t Penny Nicholson, who could dust her fanny off and get right back on the saddle.

Because she was leaving in five months to live in a frozen purgatory that she _ still _ wasn’t all so sure she wanted for herself. 

“Because it was the smart choice. The _ only _ choice, really.”

It had taken every single glob of her pudding backbone to push him away. She’d told him to ‘fuck off’ and she was proud of herself for doing so. 

If the only modicum of control she still exerted over her life was wasted on making sure she didn’t get her heart irredeemably crushed… so be it. It was the _ one _ thing she had done right in the past year and nobody, not even Scorp, could convince her otherwise. 

She might not get out of Greenland, but she sure as hell wasn’t dragging him along for the ride.

Penny brushed her hands through her long black hair and let out a disdainful sniff. “I’m sure Malfoy’s very thankful to you for pointing him in the way of righteousness and sexual frustration.” 

“Probably not,” Rose said, pursing her lips together. “But he will be.”

At one point she’d just be that annoying girl who never washed her dishes or did her laundry.

And he’d just be The One That Got Away. Worse still, he’d be The One She Pushed Away.

“And I thought _ you _ of all people would get it,” Rose added after a few minutes of quietly shuffling through their respective books. “You were the one who told me I should stand up for myself.”

“I did.” Penny’s eyes narrowed. She stopped and chewed on the cap of her pen for a few seconds. “But I meant you should stand up for what you _ want_.” 

Ha. What she wanted. What the hell _ did _ she want? 

“And while in some backwards way, this _ does _ count as standing up for yourself, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t make you _ happy_,” Penny continued thoughtfully, “which in my books is the only thing that matters.”

Definitely not helpful, Pen. Now she needed to figure out what she wanted _ and _ what made her happy? What was she was made of, self-reflection? 

* * *

**April 3rd 2028**

Al was sprawled on Yardley’s carpeted floor, narrowed eyes looking straight at the ceiling. “The thing about Rose’s schedule is you have to make a point to see her, else you just won’t,” he mused. “Won’t even catch a glimpse.”

Yardley stretched himself over the couch and gave his arm a dismissive wave. “And?”

“Scorp isn’t. Making a point, I mean.” Al’s eyes narrowed. “He spent _ months _ orbiting around her like a smitten little planetoid and now he’s not anymore. Something’s different.”

And not for the better, either. 

Since Scorp had gotten his arse fired, Rose had eschewed her table and reallocated to the couch, joining him as he read his way through every priggish book he could get his hands on. Every so often either Scorp would snort at his book or Rose would cuss at her paperwork and they’d chat about whatever it was that was bugging them, lost in their little domestic bubble.

Now, however, Rose had returned to her table. 

And Scorp wasn’t around at all.

“Cut him some slack. He _ just _ started working again, he’s busy.”

“_Working_?” Al scoffed. “He’s teaching children to fly, Yards.”

“And can you think of any nobler pursuit?” Yardley asked seraphically. “Other than teaching teenagers to Apparate, of course.”

Yardley’d been a good pal and gotten Scorp a job at the Transportation Centre. Al wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gone about it in the middle of a working year, but he was almost sure bribery had been involved. Bribery or Yardley’s charm, they were rather interchangeable. 

And now Scorp seemed… settled. Which would be good, except Scorp was the sort of person who didn’t want A Job. He wanted The Job, and as soon as the no-longer-unemployed dust settled, he’d go right back to being miserable.

“Yes, but it’s not like he spends 24 hours of a day helping snotty brats onto their brooms. He’s _ avoiding _ her.”

“You don’t know that.”

Bloody Yardley, being _ sensible_.

Al resumed his soliloquy, eyes narrowed. "You could, of course, chalk it up to coincidence… but I don't buy it. Coincidence is just--”

“-- mischief masquerading as chance, yes, yes, we _know_.” Yardley rolled his eyes, quoting Al to... well, himself. Whoops. Apparently he was becoming redundant. “They’ll sort it out. They always do.”

Al wasn’t so sure. Whenever they did bump into one another, they still talked, they still argued. But the closeness he’d seen grow over the past few months was gone, replaced with a stilted affectation of normalcy. 

It wasn’t just Greenland, either. Something had happened, Al _ knew _ it in his bones. 

The part that concerned him most was that neither of them was fessing up. Which meant they were keeping _ secrets_.

Al didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit. He was going to have to do something about it, wasn’t he? 

Short of handing them to each other on a silver platter, he wasn’t entirely sure _ what_.

“It was good of you to get him the job, though,” Al continued. “He was getting proper cranky without his six to eleven. Keeping up with tiny terrors really _ does _suit him.”

“S’what you do for your mates.” Yardley necked the remainder of his beer and offered him a thoughtful smile. “Plus, he’s doing great with the kids. The other day I heard one refer to him as ‘fab’.” 

Yardley sounded awfully pleased with himself and Al couldn’t help feeling a little petty about it. He’d bet Yards that Scorp would rather die than teach and for the most part, he’d been right. He just hadn’t known that Scorp’s dislike for humanity didn’t extend to children -- not nowadays that he _ wasn’t _ one, anyway.

After ten years, the bugger still had hidden depths.

“The higher-ups are thrilled,” Yardley added smugly. “They want to keep him full-time.”

“Fine.” Al shrugged resentfully. “You were right, I was wrong.”

Yards would still eat his own words. Scorp just needed one angry day and he’d be terrorizing the terrors. Though, according to Yards, he already had, and for some reason, that had only made them like him _ more. _

“I’ve been thinking I should’ve bought Puddlemere instead,” Yardley said thoughtfully. “Fired the Bell wanker, hired Scorp. Neat as a button.”

One could never be too sure when Yardley was joking about stuff like this. Al had once witnessed him purchasing an entire bar on a whim just to fire a single bartender who had been rude to a pretty girl.

Not exactly the most direct way of getting her number, but with Yards you never knew which way the chips would fall.

Al sniggered. “You’re a _ Cannons _ fan.”

“Their biggest, most _ devoted _ fan,” Yardley said with a smile. 

“You only like them because they systematically lose and you don’t need to put any actual work into being ‘their biggest, most _ devoted _ fan',” Al pointed out with a smirk. “When people ask ‘did you see the game’ you can always just say ‘it was shit’ and be right a hundred per cent of the time.”

“It _ might _be a bother to own a team that actually won something,” Yardley said thoughtfully, levitating a glass toward him. “But for our blond prat, I might consider it.” 

“You’d have to actually start following Quidditch.” Al’s grin grew. “Can you imagine the hassle?”

“On the bright side, I could sit on the V.I.P. stands and heckle him in every match.” Yardley sniggered. “Have a clause that he be referred to as ‘The Blond Sod’ by every commentator.” 

“Force him to do meet-and-greets, shake hands and make small talk with boring people,” Al nodded, snorting. "Offer him as the poster boy for Dragon Pox."

“There’s just endless possibilities here,” Yardley said, shrugging. “I’d _ own _ his arse.”

“Remind me of why you don’t own Puddlemere yet?” Al’s smile was saccharin. “Sounds like it might be fun.”

What was that? Blatant manipulation? No, _ of course _ not.

“Bugger off.” Yardley scoffed, offering him an I-Know-What-You’re-Doing look and Al had to contain a chuckle. “Has he heard from Gwen yet?”

“She gives him occasional updates, but so far nothing solid,” Al said, shaking his head. “She’s been keeping her cards close. Doesn’t want to get his hopes up, I guess.” 

Which meant that they were dealing with a low chance of success. Judging by Yardley’s scowl, that low chance might've become just a _ little _ higher. 

“You don’t have her number on you, do you?”

Al smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

**April 5th 2028**

“BUT I DON’T WANT TO!” Amy shrieked, stomping her foot on the grassy ground. She wasn’t even crying, she was just yelling at this point. “I WANT MY MUMMY!”

“So you see, Yards,” Scorp commented cheerfully, shaking his head, “she wants her mummy.”

“Is that snot on her nose?” Yardley asked, a sham horrified look on his face. “Terrible look. That is one prodigious booger.”

There was no snot or booger in sight, but children, Scorp’d found, were terribly susceptible to ridicule. Amy stopped shrilling like a banshee long enough to wipe her nose on her sleeve, before going right back to her now incoherent shrieking. 

“You missed it,” Yardley said amiably. “Gotta tell you, I don’t envy you mate. My students are all seventeen plus. No bratty brats.”

“I’M NOT A BRATTY BRAT! I’M NOT!”

“Of course you’re not.” Scorp took a tissue from his pocket and shook his head disapprovingly at Yardley. “He, on the other hand, is a massive pest. So I wouldn’t mind what he says either.”

He crouched down next to the little girl and gently wiped the fictional booger off her nose. 

“There,” he said, balling up the tissue and shoving it back into his robes’ pocket. “Now.”

Amy glared back at him, the hint of a tear gleaming on the corner of her eye, clear intent to start shrieking again at the smallest provocation.

“For an antagonizing misanthropist,” Yadley commented, “you’re not terrible with kids.”

Kids weren’t _ people _ yet, not really. More like dogs of a sort.

“Piss off, Yards. Don’t you have a class to teach?”

Without bothering to check if Yardley complied or not, he took a seat on the grassy floor next to Amy, who was still standing.

“Now. Why all the screaming?”

“I wa-ha-hant my mu-uh-uhmmy,” she half-said half-sobbed, apparently going from screaming to weeping, which, honestly, was preferable. “I don’t _ wa-ha-hant _ to fly.”

“I gathered as much.” Scorp tilted his head at her and she jutted out her chin, lip starting to quiver. “Why not?”

“I do-ho-hon’t!”

“I know you do-ho-hon’t,” Scorp said, nodding gravely as he pulled the tissue from his pocket again and not-so-gently wiped her now very snotty nose. “Blow.” She did and he tapped his wand to it to make it go away because urgh, snot. “What I’m asking is ‘why’.” 

Yardley let out a cough that sounded awfully like ‘Scorpiusing’ before Apparating back to the Transportation Centre. Scorp ignored him and his eyes met Amy’s blue ones. 

“The reason I’m asking is maybe you’re right. Maybe you _ shouldn’t _ be flying.”

There wasn’t a hint of suspicion or calculation in the eyes that looked back at him. Clearly, she didn’t have a Slytherin bone in her body. From her inability to produce coherent sentences, he was guessing she wasn’t a Ravenclaw either. 

Judging by all the yelling, he was dealing with either a budding, sputtering, nap-needy Gryffindor or a very, very scared Hufflepuff.

“I don’t wa-ha-nt to because… it looks sca-ha-ry,” she said in a very small voice, an occasional rebellious hiccup racking through her. “I told mum I didn’t want to, but she doesn’t _ listen_.”

Hufflepuff.

“_No_.” Scorp’s eyes eyebrows furrowed with indignation. “Maybe I should have a talk with her. Tell her I can’t force you to fly if you don’t want to.”

He’d been jonesing for a fight all week. All month, really. Unfortunately… he actually, really, _ truly _ liked the job and it was incredibly hard to stay angry at the world when he was… well. Having fun. 

That or he just liked having something to do, he still wasn’t sure which.

Amy looked up at him, eyes wide. “You can’t?”

“Of course I can’t,” he lied. “You’ll have classes at Hogwarts when you get there anyway. This is just to prep you.”

“I _ will_?” 

Her face immediately fell and Scorp’s mouth quivered as he tried to suppress a grin. 

“You will. Just like Apparition. A bunch of your mates watching your first horrifying foray into the grand world of aerodynamics.”

He was doing his unholy best not to laugh.

“But what if I do-hon’t _ want _ to do it?” Amy fell next to him, face scrunched into a frown. “What if I really, really, _ really _ don’t want to?”

“Then you don’t need to,” Scorp said, shrugging. “My flatmate doesn’t fly. She learned how but she didn’t like it and so she just… doesn’t.”

Talking about her, _ thinking _ about her ached. Scorp had taken to just ignoring it and shoving through, booting off the red curls and blue eyes that danced through his mind just as he had before.

Except, _ before_, he’d figured he didn’t have a shot. And now he _ knew _ he’d had a shot and somehow let it slip right between his fingers.

“But mum said _ all _ witches fly,” she said, her eyes still wide, like it had never occurred to her that she had a choice. “She said every proper witch has to fly on a broomstick. S’a retirement.”

“A _ what_?”

“Retirement,” she repeated, a little too poshly for someone who seconds earlier had been stomping her foot. “Y’now, something you have to do, else they take away your witch badge and you can’t do magic anymore. Mummy said so.”

He reminded himself that he was dealing with a Muggleborn. Explained a lot, really. Some Muggle parents were chomping at the bit that their little treasures would have all the opportunities a magical brat did. It also explained why she was terrified. 

“It’s a ‘requirement’ and your mummy’s a rotten liar. There’s no badge and not _ all _ witches and wizards fly,” Scorp said, snorting dismissively. “Not all witches apparate either. I have a friend who just refuses to.”

Was he only attracted to women who were averse to magical transportation? All he needed now was to find a girl who hated Flooing and he’d have the Holy Trifecta.

Who knew, maybe Floo Girl would be the Right One. Third time’s a charm and all that rot.

He got up to his feet and narrowed his eyes at little Amy. “Up.” The look of terror she gave him was reminiscing of Rose’s that one night and Scorp scowled. “I’m not going to spellotape you to a broom, so _ up_.”

Tempting as it might be. Had she been of the Gryffindor variety he’d have no qualms about strapping her to a broom and letting her fall 100 feet.

She got up warily and Scorp seized her wriggling form under the arms and lifted her, steadily letting her hover about a foot off the ground. “Is this scary?”

She looked down and shook her head, a look of visible apprehension on her face.

“If I drop you, will you get hurt?”

Another shake.

“What about now?”

He lifted her two feet up and again, she shook her head, albeit a little more hesitantly. 

He set her back down. “If it’s just _ that _ high and you can put your feet to the floor anytime… would you care to give it a go?”

She glared at him. “That’s not _ flying_,” she said pedantically. “_That’s _ flying.” She pointed at another nearby class where Level D was enthusiastically doing hoop drills.

“That’s showing off, not flying,” he said, snorting. “Not normal flying like regular people do.” He could see a glimmer of hope in her eyes and he went in for the kill. “You start low,” he told her, offering her a grin. “_Then _ you go higher. _ Then _ you can show off.”

After a final half-hour of half-hearted gliding half a foot above the ground, he delivered a borderline hysterical Amy to her mother. “And then I went a _ little _ higher and the teacher said next week we’ll be going taller than I am and I fell _ twice _ but it didn’t hurt and --”

Scorp’s lips pressed into a thin line. 

Just like Rose, she’d never been afraid of flying. She’d been afraid of _ falling_.

Which, come to think of it, was rather a theme in Rose’s life.

* * *

**April 10th 2028**

Al had spent the last few weeks summoning up the courage, building on stack over stack of self-assurance. London was a bloody _ large _ city and he was going mid-morning. The odds of a Ministry intern being out at this time of day were slim to none.

He would just nip in, get a cup and a slice of cheesecake, and nip out. 

His heart hammered in sync with his steps and Al scoffed at himself. 

It was _ fine_. 

He was _ fine_. 

_ Everything was fine_.

His eyes fell fondly on his beloved coffee shop, the one he’d lost in the breakup. 

Coming here felt like violating an unspoken arrangement and yet Al dragged himself onwards, opening the door, basking in the familiar warmth and smell. 

This must be what getting away with murder felt like.

It had been more than a sodding year, he reminded himself. The statute of limitations on the custody of coffee shops had to expire at _ some _ point. 

And that point was now.

“Cup of coffee to go, please,” he said, placing his hands on the cool glass and marvelling at how simultaneously familiar and foreign it all felt. “And a slice of…”

He stared through the window at the cake display, his victorious heart slowly steadying in his chest. 

Caramel, lemon, strawberry, banana cream, coffee… Some new ones too. 

Pepper Imp Cheesecake? Well, that sounded nasty, he _ definitely _had to take it for a spin.

“Al?” 

The familiar voice sent an icy chill up his spine. Every single one of his better instincts told him to disapparate. Instead, like the complete and utter imbecile he was, he whipped around and stared, nay, _ gaped_, at none other than Zara Spencer.

She was _ still _ gorgeous, Merlin. How? Looking the same as she had a year ago, short blonde curls and a trademark lavender scarf peeking under her jacket. 

How in the _ world _ did she still make him feel like he was sixteen, tall and awkward and flailing limbs? Like any moment his face might choose to throw an acne party, like he was seconds away from an awkward boner, like any minute now, his mum would walk into the room and catch him _ en flagrant délit_.

“Zara,” Al said, his voice coming out perhaps an octave higher than he would have liked. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Of all the clichés. 

Her laughter was like balm to his ears and Al realised he’d suddenly forgotten How To Arm. He crossed them in front of his chest, only to decide that felt weird and instead let them hang like noodles at his sides, which also felt weird. 

“It’s really good to see you,” she said, a slightly apologetic smile on her face. “How’ve you been?”

He shrugged, trying to appear unruffled, which was rather difficult because his body was a treacherous piece of shit and kept ogling her like she was a particularly divine slice of heaven cheesecake. “Same old, same old. You?”

“Lily tells me you’ve moved in with Scorp and Rose,” she said, deflecting the question with all the mastery of a genuinely clueless person. “She mentioned they are getting along...?”

First his body, now Lily. Was there nothing he could trust? Did the Sanctity of A Shitty Breakup mean nothing anymore?

“They _ are_,” he said lightly. “Shocker, I know, but we always knew they’d get along if they settled down long enough --”

‘We’, dear Merlin. Five seconds in her presence and he’d gone from being an ‘I’ right back to being a ‘we’.

“-- and apparently _ I _ was right all along.”

Just when he was about to lose his Almighty Chill and ask her if she’d like to grab a coffee, someone along the queue cried out, “Oy, mate, you’re holding up the line!”, effectively saving him from making what would be perhaps the worst decision in his entire adult career.

“You have to pick one.” Zara pointed at the display and offered him a smile. “I don’t know if you’ve tried the new ones, but the Pepper Imp is horrific, you’ll _ love _ it.”

Resentment boiled in his stomach. She wasn’t supposed to know him anymore. He was supposed to have grown past her and, instead, she _ still _ had him all figured out.

“Strawberry,” he tartly told the waiter, who scurried off to cut and package a slice with the sort of speed that would’ve put Hermes to shame. “I’ll have to go with the classics. It’s been a while.”

Seconds later he had a coffee in one hand and a box of strawberry cheesecake to go and Zara was ordering and he was _ still _ standing there, like there was an anchor of daftness weighing him down.

“It was great seeing you.” She laid down her hand on his arm and gave it a tiny squeeze. “We should catch up sometime.”

It was like all the clichés in the world had assembled for their benefit, elbowing each other out of the way so they could get in on this awkward trainwreck.

“We definitely should.”

Al finally pulled himself together enough to haul himself away. Step after mechanical step, moving forward and only stopping when he was inside the safety of Gringotts’ walls. Heart still hammering against his ribcage long after he’d reached his office.

“You’re looking shit,” commented Yaxley as he walked past. “Is that pudding?”

Al rolled his eyes and dumped the cake on Yaxley’s desk. “You can have it.”

The strawberry goodness was probably laced with sentimental insight and Al wanted no truck with it.

He glared at the coffee for an extra second, briefly wondering if it was infused with dangerous considerations, only to decide that it contained enough innocent caffeine to merit a pardon. 

“Really?” Yaxley asked, his face scrunching first with confusion and then with suspicion as he examined the plastic container. “Just like that?”

“What can I say, I’m feeling generous,” Al said sweetly, turning and walking away. “Gift from the heart, Yax, gift from the heart.”

Something worthwhile could still come off this mess -- Albus Potter was nothing if not optimistic.

For example, Yaxley might choke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems I lied in regards to my NaNo project. I've suddenly been hit with a lot of WS muse (partly due to ffn messing up my last update and all the spite associated with the situation) so I'll apparently be updating WS during November. Possibly more than once. Possibly with the goal of... eh... maybe... finishing this? Idk yet, we'll see how that goes. 
> 
> Tell me what you thought!!! Thank you to EnolaScamander, Arwin_Fred, g, LordLockhart1770, Anna_Elephant and Maria Isabel for their reviews! I do love a captive audience.


	26. Two Breakdowns Do Not A Breakup Make

**April 11th 2028**

One word stared back at Al from the screen on his magitech.

_'Coffee?'_

He pressed send and sighed.

* * *

**April 13th 2028**

Scorp stopped dead in his tracks at the miserable sight on their couch. "What the--"

Rose was hugging her knees to her chest. Her legs were half out of her pants and she had a single shoe on her foot. When she looked up, there were clearly tears streaming down her face.

His mind immediately jumped to the worst possible scenario, panic cosying up to him like a long-lost friend.

“What _ happened_?” 

She hid her face on her knees, wild red curls slumping forwards and shielding her from view. 

Pursing his lips together, Scorp grabbed a blanket in passing which he draped over her. He gingerly took a seat and then hovered hesitantly, completely unsure of what to do or say. 

“Rose?”

She was too unresponsive, _ too _ quiet.

After what felt like an eternity, she broke the silence, her voice a small, wobbly whimper: “I can’t find my shoe_._”

“_What_?”

Maybe he’d misheard.

A single, heartbreaking sob tore through her and Scorp recoiled with horror. 

What in the _ world _ was happening here?

“I can’t find my shoe and my sock has a _ hole _ in it.” 

Another sob.

“Rose --”

“How the _ fuck _ am I supposed to keep people alive_\--_”

_ Sob _ .

“--_if I can’t even find my shoe_?”

She was now full sobbing, whimpering between every syllable, like everything was coming out suddenly and all at once. 

Rose Weasley was shattering in front of his eyes. 

Worst of all, he hadn’t the faintest idea of why or how - mostly because he was a selfish _ idiot _who’d been keeping well away from her. 

What on earth had he missed?

Scorp wrapped two arms around her and gently manoeuvred the Rose shaped bundle toward him, carefully tucking the blanket under her. 

“_Why _ are you crying?” 

Rose shook in his arms and he pressed a kiss to her hair, desperately trying to find the right words and failing quite spectacularly. “We’ll find the shoe, I promise. Where did you see it last?”

“I _ can’t _… I don’t…” 

“Did you try Accioing it?”

“_I don’t know_!”

Another sob shook the pair of them and Scorp held on for dear life.

“Schh, dearest,” he cooed, not knowing what else to say. “It’ll be alright. We’ll find it.” 

She didn’t do anything normal people did when crying. It wasn’t a consistent effort, more like she held it in and then it came bubbling out all at once in one of those heart-wrenching sobs.

“I --”

_ Sob_.

A wild ride with a drunk driver and no seatbelts would’ve been less terrifying that this - whatever this _ was_. Like a wounded animal.

“I can’t --” 

One of his hands traced circles on her back while the other stroked her hair. All through it Scorp mumbled all the inane platitudes he could think of, from ‘there, there’ to ‘everything’s fine’ to his greatest hit, ‘I will burn that damned shoe’, which elicited a ragged chuckle from her before she slipped right back into her quiet hysteria.

Every once in a while she’d mumble half-sentences about how ‘she couldn’t’ and ‘how was she supposed to’ and honestly, Scorp couldn’t make heads or tails of it. What he did know was that his shirt was drenched with tears and that he’d never felt more miserable in his entire life.

Her kissing him and telling him to bugger off? Compared to this? That was _ nothing_.

As his lobotomized brain slowly recovered from the overwhelming wave of concern that had struck at the sight of her crying, he almost kicked himself for thinking this had anything to do with the shoe. 

He’d seen enough of her in exam season to know it was probably just burnout - but it was also a very tentative 'probably' since had never seen her like _ this_.

A good twenty minutes passed before her breathing settled and he threw a thankful prayer out into the universe when he finally felt her relaxing against him. 

“Alright?”

‘Alright, Weasley’ would’ve been too glib, he felt.

Rose nodded into his shirt and Scorp breathed with relief. “_Good_.”

“_I’m sorry_.”

“What for?”

A sniffle told him it was the wrong thing to ask and she stiffened in his arms again. 

“Do you want me to get you something?”

Rose finally tilted her head up long enough for him to see the pitiful state she was in, a mess of tears, snot and exhaustion. He pressed his lips together and braced himself, before tucking his hand into the sleeve of his sweater and using it to wipe the gunk off her face. 

“Tea maybe?”

A flash of humour crossed her eyes and she let out a still weepy chuckle and a single word: “_Scorpiusing_.”

Not ‘Scorpius’ name, ‘Scorpiusing’ verb. If she was fine enough to mock him, she was probably feeling better. 

“What else am I supposed to do?” he asked, giving her a rueful grin, trying to hide the overwhelming bubble of concern that still hadn’t burst. He felt like he was holding his breath, waiting for her to fall apart again. “How can I help? Tell me what you need and I’ll do it.”

Rose’s eyes softened for a second before they widened and she looked at the grandfather clock. “_Shit_.” She slipped from his grasp onto her feet, squeezing fully into her jeans and then she stopped on her tracks. “I can’t find my shoe."

Scorp shook his head and took his wand from his pocket, giving it a half-hearted wave. “_ Accio _ Rose’s shoes. But Rose, you can’t possibly think --”

“I’m late.” Assorted footwear floated over and she sorted through it wordlessly, almost efficiently. After a few seconds, her shoulders slumped and she let herself fall from a crouch to a seat on the floor. “It’s not here.”

Her mouth quivered again, eyes overflowing with tears anew.

Scorp tore desperate fingers through his hair and stood up. “You’re not going in.” The snooty look she threw him told him he had his work cut out for him. “You need _ sleep_.”

Several emotions rushed through her face: anger, disbelief, _ exhaustion_. 

“You _ can’t _ go in like this,” he said, crouching down next to her. “You _ know _ you can’t.”

And finally, acceptance. She nodded quietly. 

“Should I call Penny or Jesse and let them know you’re taking a sick day?” 

Nod. 

“Okay, that’s good.” And after a few seconds, “Bed?”

“_No_,” she said quietly, her eyes filling with tears, which she wiped away with her sleeve. “I’m too tired to sleep and I can’t stop crying and I got snot all over you --”

_ Oh, Merlin. _

He looked down at his tear-stained shirt and slowly back at her. "Your priorities are insane. Come on, up ya go." He draped her arm around his neck before swiping her legs with his own arm, ignoring the pounding of his heart at the contact, at the feel of her body pressed against his. She wriggled a little before giving up and holding her arms around his neck. 

Her lightness reminded him that he hadn’t actually been shovelling food into her for the past month, which meant she probably hadn’t either. 

One problem at a time. 

Scorp dumped her on the couch and placed a pillow under her head, haphazardly relegating the rest of them to the nearest armchair. He piled every single blanket over her, happy to finally have _ something _ he could do, and tucked her feet in. 

“I’m calling Boot and getting some food into you,” he informed her, crouching down next to her. “And if you move from that couch, I promise I _ will _hex you.”

Even from behind the tears, Rose let out a faint mixture between a sniff and a snort. “No, you won’t.”

The absolute _ cheek _ of her. That had to mean she was feeling better.

“I won’t,” he said quietly. “But you need to at least _ try _ to sleep.” He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m not scolding, but you need to take better care of yourself. If not for you, for me.”

He _ never _ wanted to see that again. He _ never _ wanted to see her falling to pieces in front of him and have no idea of what to do. He focused on what he _ could _ do instead, which was to call Jesse and busy himself producing some mediocre tea and toast that he had no doubts he would have to force down her throat. 

By the time he got to the living room, yielding a plate like one would a sword with which to slay a dragon, she was fast asleep.

* * *

**April 15th 2028**

Soft blonde curls bounced as Melissa Peakes strutted into the coffee shop, a soft smile on her face. She’d let it grow longer, which was different but somehow fitting. Al got up to his feet and she ran to him, curls bobbing all the way until his arms were wrapped around her.

“Wow,” he muttered into her hair, letting out a laugh. “I missed you too.”

“It’s been a minute.” She let go, draping her jacket over the back of the chair in front of his before taking a seat. “You’re...” She struggled for words, tilting her head appraisingly. “Taller?”

“You sound like my Nan.” Al snorted. “Next thing you’ll be telling me I need to eat more and giving me a fiver to buy myself something nice.”

Melissa was just that, an old soul. 

The sort whose wallet was overflowing with tattered pictures of friends and family. The sort who kept misshapen clay pots she’d been given by various nieces and nephews at the office and glaringly bad pasta crafts stuck to her fridge.

“I sort of missed you,” she said quietly, smiling over at a passing waiter. “I figured you’d call eventually but --”

The sentence petered out and his heartstrings played a familiar tune of regret.

“I’d been meaning to. But --”

She wasn’t his type. He didn’t even know if he had a type anymore or if his type was just one person.

“-- look, I’ve been wondering: are you single?”

Cutting to the point, there’s a good lad. 

He _ knew _ she was still single else he wouldn’t have bothered, but he wanted to give her an out, a chance to lie and say ‘sort of’ or something else equally feeble - not that she would, obviously.

Brown eyes widened. Shock? Apprehension? Possibly a mix.

“We’ve talked about this,” she said, her face scrunching a bit. “I thought --”

“Go out with me,” he interrupted dismissively. After a few seconds, he added, just to be clear, “An _ actual_, clothes-stay-on date. Dinner, drinks. Fancy clothes, home by midnight maybe one.”

He’d liked to have been slightly more antsy about it, but he wasn’t - he wasn’t sure if it was because Melissa was Melissa or if it was because she wasn’t Zara.

In any case, he wasn’t nervous_ at all_. Which was either an excellent sign or a terrible one.

“Al, I’ve seen you maybe three times in several _ months_.” Melissa’s eyebrows shot upwards. “And now you waltz in and...”

A nearby waiter stopped by, asking them if they knew what they wanted yet and Al could’ve kissed him. “I’ll have a double mocchachi --”

“Not yet, darling,” Melissa cut in, giving the kid a bright smile. “Could you come back in a few?”

The bloke practically tripped all over himself as he walked away, throwing a final longing glance at her over his shoulder.

Al didn’t blame him. She _ was _ all sorts of tall and gorgeous. Her eyes were darker and her hair was blonder than Zara’s like she was somehow more… _ real _ somehow. Then again he hadn’t spent a year piling his own expectations on her, so that might explain it.

The brown eyes were looking at him expectantly now. 

“I figured I’d finally take you on a proper date.” Al quirked an eyebrow at her and tried to stifle the defensive tone in his voice. “I reckoned it was due.”

“You reckoned.” Melissa tilted her head at him and narrowed her eyes at him. “Hmm.”

Okay, no, now he was nervous. 

The way she was staring at him was far too sensible for his taste. Like she was peeling away all the layers and looking right at what was inside. 

“Alright, Potter,” she said after a few seconds, giving him a soft smile. “I’ll bite.”

Very nervous indeed. 

* * *

**April 18th 2028**

“And how are we today--” Rose’s voice died in her throat as she looked up from her chart. “_Oh shit_.”

There was a large black stain covering half the girl’s face, trickling down the skin of her neck, spreading millimetre by sickening millimetre. Her right eye was also covered in the black miasma giving her an eery, inhuman look.

Rose’s heart felt like it was about to give just as the girl’s welcoming smile faded. “Is everything alright...?” 

She’d cursed out loud, hadn’t she? _ Bugger_.

Rose’s first impulse was to run for dear life and get someone, _ anyone_. The second, drilled into her in the past eight months, was to take a deep, wobbly breath.

Inoculate. Reassure. Assess the situation. _ Then, _ if need be, run screaming for the hills - but only after she left the patient’s room.

Her eyes went back to the chart. “No, no, everything’s fine. I uh, just --” Rose forced a smile onto her face and cast a quick, shakey inoculation spell before taking a few hesitant steps into the room. “Emily, right?” 

The girl nodded, her wary eyes following her approach. 

Rose’s gaze, however, was glued to the chart. Emily had been admitted with a case of Floating Hiccups, apparently. 

This, however, wasn’t it. Nothing on the chart that would explain… whatever _ that _ was.

She could see the blackened veins pulsating as the nastiness slowly spread. Emily seemed completely unaware of it, her apprehensive eyes still trained on Rose. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she said hesitantly. “I haven’t had any symptoms today. Do you suppose I’m alright enough to go?”

Technically that was exactly what Rose was supposed to be doing, discharging her. The black stain dripping down Emily's face, however, posed a significant deterrent to that task.

Rose was sure her smile wouldn’t win her any acting awards, but she kept it firmly plastered on as she scanned the rest of the girl’s chart. “I, uh…” Rose cleared her throat. “We’d like to order a few more tests first, just to be sure.”

Projecting confidence in a moment like this felt a lot harder than it should. Rose prayed that the pounding of her heart and her utter panic would stay under wraps long enough until she left the room.

“I was hoping my mum could come pick me up sometime today or early tomorrow,” Emily said conversationally, “but I need to tell her which.”

Pupils dilated. Stain moving, if slowly. 

“You’ll know in a few hours.” Rose reached out a hand. “May I --?”

“Only if you buy me dinner first,” the girl said, letting out a nervous little laughter before clearing her throat. “Sorry. Awkward joker.”

“Oh, uh…” Rose gave her an awkward chuckle of her own as she placed her index and middle finger on Emily's carotid. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

She was pleased at how that sounded, even if it was a damned lie. Like she knew what she was doing. Like she had _ mileage_.

Her pulse felt… _ off_. Not so much the speed, more the… consistency, like an elephant straining to get through a straw. Her slightly shaky fingers traced the edge of the stain, which apparently wasn’t salient as she’d first thought but rather under the dermis. 

Rose’s face scrunched as the very edge of the stain followed the pad of her thumb, like it had a mind of its own. 

That wasn’t right. 

“Alright,” Rose said, squeezing a final grin onto her face. “I’m going to get you those tests, then.”

“Can I have some fries with those?” Emily asked with a chuckle.

Awkwardly chuckle back, slowly retreat, turn, _ panic_.

_ Bug_, clearly of the magical persuasion. Rose racked her brains to find something that corresponded to the description, but either she simply didn’t _ know _ or her sleep-deprived brain was being awfully difficult about it.

Fergus Rot didn’t move like that. Neither did a Blanche Infection or Spectral Eczema. Her pulse was normal, despite the viscous flow and so was her breathing. 

“Healer Aspen,” Rose sighed with relief as she caught up with the young, tall woman, falling into step next to her, thanking every lucky star that the first Healer she’d found was also the _ one _ healer in the building who wasn’t a shithead - Penny’s words, not hers.

“Rose.”

Unlike the rest of her peers, Healer Aspen still didn’t feel the need to reduce the Healers-In-Training to their own insignificance by calling them Miss or Mr. 

It was like getting back a shred of humanity.

“One of my patients, Emily Wright...?” 

Healer Aspen held out a hand and Rose handed her the chart. Healer Aspen’s eyes flickered briefly with recognition and she waved a hand for Rose to go on. 

“She’s got this growing black stain on the side of her face. BP’s normal if a little… strange, it’s like her blood got _ thicker_. Breathing’s normal, pupils are dilated --”

The young Healer stopped and let out a small exhale that might, Rose supposed, be interpreted as a laugh.

“Ginger, right?”

Rose shook with confusion. “What?”

“She’s a ginger. They gave her a course of Beta Stalkers this morning to prep her for discharge.” When Rose’s eyes narrowed, Healer Aspen continued, putting on her teaching hat: “Beta Stalkers, unlike their muggle cousins, are a sentient breed of magical bug that courses through the blood trying to find any sign of something wrong. When they do find it, they coalesce on the spot, creating a dark black stain that we use to pinpoint problem areas.”

Rose nodded. This wasn’t new to her, obviously, but she _ still _ couldn’t see the correlation.

“It’s rare, but in some very outlier cases - gingers, usually - Beta Stalkers do the exact opposite.”

“They cover everything _ but _ …? _ ” _Rose asked uncertainly, shaking her head. 

It was the first she’d heard of it.

“Yes. We have no idea why yet, it’s always been a source of some confusion.” Healer Aspen handed back the chart to her. “And it’s not in the Fourth Year curriculum. What did you tell her?”

Rose’s heart winced. “I didn’t know what _to_ say. I kind of… uh… told her we still needed to run some extra tests… and --”

“You did good.” The tall woman gave her a nod. “You didn’t stress her unnecessarily.”

_ You did good_.

Her chest filled with something warm just before she remembered what she’d said the very second she’d stepped into the room. 

“I let out a swear when I first saw her,” Rose said, her voice very small. 

“I mostly use my inside voice for that.” Healer Aspen let out another of her short huffs and placed an arm around her shoulder, twirling them around in the general direction of Emily Wright’s room. “Her vitals were fine and you didn’t know what it was. You asked for help,” here she gave her shoulders a small squeeze before punctuating, “You did what you were supposed to.”

Again. That warmish, happy glow. 

_ You did what you were supposed to_.

“You’re coming with me?” Rose asked incredulously as Healer Aspen herded her back toward the room. 

“Well,” and here Healer Aspen seemed to hesitate. “I’ve never actually _ seen _it.”

She sounded excited. Oh, Merlin almighty, Healer Aspen was in full-on Healer _ fangirl _mode.

“Emily,” Rose said with a strained smile as she entered the room. A quick glance at Healer Aspen’s face told her that she was using her inside voice right now. Not only that but that Rose was supposed to be the one doing the talking. “This is Healer Aspen. Now, everything’s fine so you don’t need to worry but--”

If only every day could be like this. If only she could bottle _this_ and take it home. 

* * *

**April 20th 2028**

“-- you would not _ believe _ how cute she looked with her cat ears and the little whiskers.” There was a smile on Melissa’s face as she leaned against the familiar door of her building, the one he’d all but been kicked out of months earlier. 

Al smiled back and leaned against the door close to her, her arm brushing against his.

“You’re quiet,” she added softly. “Have I bored you to tears?”

Dating was an odd thing, he’d discovered today. It was a queer, queasy little thing that sent butterflies fluttering into his stomach. Sex wasn’t meaningless, but there was something different about the dating market, about desperately wanting to prove yourself worthy.

Al didn’t particularly enjoy doing anything because he felt he _ had _ to - he was a maverick like that - but this was different. The operative word was ‘wanting’.

He’d wanted desperately tonight. Wanted every time they touched, wanted every time she smiled. Wanted when she’d been pressed against him on the dance floor, both laughing at the ridiculous spectacle they were making of themselves.

“No.” His eyebrow furrowed and he tested his lower lip. “I was just thinking you look lovely.”

Dark brown eyes, almost blank in the dark of the night - crinkled and her mouth quivered slightly upwards. “My cousins came over, hauled half their wardrobe into my house and wrestled me into… _ this_.”

She looked down at her dress hidden from sight under her jacket and shuffled uncomfortably. Her hands pulled at the seams, wrapping it closer, shielding herself and the pretty black dress from the nippy spring cold. 

Al sent a silent ‘thank you’ to the universe for meddlesome cousins.

“I meant a more general loveliness,” Al said, resting the back of his head against the wall. With heels on, she was tall enough to look him in the eye without having to crane her neck. “The sort you couldn’t get rid of even if you tried.”

Also that he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take her home and hold her in his arms, bury his face on her neck. Make her scream for him.

“Careful, Potter." She looked down to hide a smile, blonde curls covering her face. "Much more of that and I might believe you.”

“Don’t you?”

“I don’t.” She shook her head and slipped an arm onto the crook of his arm, letting herself slowly fall to sit on the doorstep. He followed blankly and she leaned against him. “I thought there’d be a bottom line of some sort but I haven't found it yet.”

“Bottom line?”

He blinked again, innocently, trying to settle the telltale flush on his cheeks.

“Something you wanted to prove. You had that sort of look on your face when you asked.” She looked up at him and his heart thumped when she smiled. _Ba-dum._ “You’re not exactly opaque and I have eyes on my face.”

“What exactly would I have to _ prove_?” 

The defensiveness was far too genuine, far too open - she tended to drag it out, unapologetically honest herself. He could hear it in his own voice and if he could, that meant she would.

“I don’t know,” she confessed, resting her chin on his shoulder and smiling at him. “I’m not blind, but I’m not a mindreader. What gives?” He licked his lower lip and bit down on it, a scowl furrowing his brow and she added a soft, “I won’t judge, I promise.”

His mouth opened and closed and every single bit of him told him to change the conversation, do something else, _ anything else_. 

He leaned in and kissed her then, hand cupped to her cheek, tracing the soft skin of her jaw down to her neck. Just like every single time before she let out a little shocked whimper before melting into him.

He’d kissed her a thousand times, a million even - enough to know that something was… different. His heart launched into frantic beating as her tongue brushed against his, taking as much as she could and returning it tenfold, the kissing gift that kept on giving, hands raking softly at his black hair, lashes tickling his face.

After a few minutes of reckless snogging, she pressed a single hand to his chest and stared back at him, eyes wide, forehead scrunched, her voice barely a whisper as she said, “Tell me this isn’t about _ Her _again.”

Voldemort had nothing on Zara Spencer.

“It’s not,” he lied quietly, trying to steady his beating heart. “It’s about you. And me.”

The second he said it, he realised it wasn’t a complete lie. Something in it rang true, something tiny and entirely too optimistic. Something that had poked out its head for the first time tonight at dinner, blinking as it saw the light for the first time. Stumbling out when he'd seen her in the dress with the tiny bow on her waist. Something that whispered quietly that there was something _ different_.

It couldn’t be this easy. It just couldn’t. 

“I figured.” Melissa grimaced and slowly pulled herself to her feet and he shuffled after her. “I like you Al. Always have. But I’m not a poor man’s… _ Her_.”

Something desperate clawed at his chest at the familiar scene. “No, darling, hear me out--”

“No,” she said simply. “We’ve been through this once before. Do you have any idea how much it _ hurt_? To know I wasn’t her, never would be her and that you’d never --”

“Well, that’s because you’re _ not _ her!” Al’s hand tore at his hair and he winced, adding a quick, “I didn’t mean it like that, I--”

Melissa was looking down at him now from the doorstep, taller than him in every possible way. “I _ know_. I _ know _ you. And I know _ me_. I figured one date wouldn’t be too bad but it _ is_, alright?” She leaned back against her door and looked heavenward, lip shaking slightly. “I _ like _ you. And it’s been a year, almost a year and a half--”

“I saw Her.”

He didn't want her to _go_. Manipulation won against… well, self-preservation. 

Melissa stiffened against the door she’d been opening and glanced at him over her shoulder - far too kind not to care even when it was hurting her. “You _ did_?”

He nodded slowly, a crease between his eyebrows. “Yes.”

“How was it?” The hand that was holding the rattling keys stopped moving and Al breathed with relief. “No wonder you…”

“That’s not what it was.” Al shook himself and waved a dismissive hand. “I mean, maybe, but… Not _ all of it_.”

She eyed him warily, a hand gently brushing his arm. “I knew there was something.”

“There _ was _ something. But there also… wasn’t?” His eyes narrowed at her as he forced the words of out his mouth, throwing Zara under the bus for the sake of keeping her there. “It was _ exactly _ the same. Except _ I’m _ not the same. Or maybe I am, but I don’t want to be.”

“You don’t want to be,” she repeated slowly. “You don’t _ want _ to be in love with her anymore?”

“I don’t.” Al’s face scrunched into a scowl. “I don’t think I do.”

That wasn't a lie either, he realised belatedly. 

“That’s why... the date?” 

The butterflies from before tentatively fluttered in his stomach and he nodded. 

“Okay then,” she said, nodding back, a small smile on her face as her keys jingled again and she turned to open the door. She nodded once more to herself and let out a small laugh. “Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep. See you tomorrow.”

“_Tomorrow_?” 

“Tomorrow.” Melissa nodded and smiled, and the sight of it the butterflies in his stomach went a little overboard with manic fluttering. “Dinner at mine. I’ll cook.”

“For _ me_?”

“Yes, for you.” She swayed with the door for a few seconds and gave him a final searching look. “I’ve decided I’m going to steal you away.”

“_You what_?!” He pressed a foot on the door to stop her from closing it and leaned in. “_Steal_ me?”

She gave him another smile and leaned in, whispering, “Men do it all the time. They woo. They romance. They take the girl to a nice dinner, give her flowers, they kiss her and make her swoon.” Soft lips met his and everything inside him crumbled into pieces only to pull itself back together when she asked against his lips, “Did you swoon?”

Al nodded daftly and her mouth found his again. Slow, gentle, _affectionate_.

She pulled back after a second, cheers flushed and Al asked quietly, “Why now?”

She let out a sharp exhale. “Because love is a choice… and if you’re choosing not to choose _ Her _ anymore, that's good enough for me.” She softly pushed his foot away with her own and placed her soft pillowy lips on his again, the smallest flicker of the tongue that sent a jolt directly to his dick. “See you tomorrow.”

Al, who’d spent a lot of time wooing and a lot of time taking Zara to nice dinners and giving her flowers and kissing her and purposely making her swoon, felt like the rug had just been pulled from under his feet.

Now would be a good time to go home and panic about how he didn’t have anything to wear.

* * *

**April 28th 2028**

“You’re not leaving,” Rose said, lifting an arm to cut Scorp’s access to the fireplace. “_Sit_.”

“I have --”

Rose sniggered, eyes still fixed on her book. “Work? No, you don’t.” 

“How --” 

He sounded surprised and Rose scoffed. “I asked Yards and he said you were free. Now _ sit_.”

Was it base of her to keep him waiting for extra effect? Probably. But it was one of the things her mum would do when she wanted to make someone sweat and Rose could attest to its effectiveness. She carried on, reading her notes with blind eyes and pointlessly underlining one or two sentences before deliberately setting down her quill and _ finally _ looking at him.

“Now,” she said, clearing her throat.

He grinned at her, leaning against his seat. “Enjoyed that, did you?” 

Rose’s mouth twitched into a smile, all pretence completely lost in the face of his obvious amusement. “Incidentally yes, I did.”

“Your forehead gets all scrunched when you’re _ actually _ reading,” he said, still wearing his easy smile. “What do you need?”

It was always about what she needed nowadays. All their chats were about laundry or dishes or bills or, most annoyingly, food and sleep. After her little meltdown, Scorp seemed to have taken it upon himself to pester her to death. He’d ply her with food while she was studying and tell her to go sleep.

Terrifying how maternal a properly motivated man could be.

In spite of his nurturing efforts, he’d _ still _ avoid her whenever they met, not in the previous Albus way of bolting for the door, but more of an understated sort of psychological trench. Chatting about irrelevant details, killing intimate conversation with a monosyllable. Dodging any sort of closeness like it was the plague.

Rose couldn't take it anymore. 

She frowned. “I need you to _ stay_.”

“What for?” he asked, in a careless way that felt like a hundred elephants delicately stampeding all over her heart.

“Not for anything.” Rose hesitated, biting her lower lip. “I miss you. I miss us.”

It was good that the pit in her stomach was large enough to bury her body, maybe have a nice service. The coroners would declare the cause of death to be his sodding smile. 

A wary smile but a smile nonetheless.

“Do you now?”

Smug wanker. 

“Oh, bugger off,” Rose groaned, resting her forehead against her folded arms for a second. “This is serious. You said… you said nothing would _ change_.”

“Technically, _ you _ said that.”

All at once, she suddenly felt very tired. The last few weeks had been a maze of shifts, classes and studying for midterms. She was still recovering and it wasn’t even the usual dramatic exhaustion, just a sort of hushed, pervasive weariness.

The kind that _ dragged_. 

A hand reached out, hesitating briefly before settling on her wrist. 

Ignoring the thumping of her heart against her chest, Rose rested her forehead against his knuckles and closed her eyes. Maybe if she never opened them again she’d be fine.

“I know what I said.” He gave her wrist a gentle squeeze before letting his hand fall. “And for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

“Is it unfair if I want everything to go back --” 

\-- _ to what it was? _

The question remained unasked, the answer obvious. She huffed into her arms: _ of course _ it was unfair. “I’d honestly rather go back to when you hated me.”

_ Silence_.

Rose looked up from her arms at his scowl and quickly added, “I didn’t mean --”

“I never _ hated _ you,” he enunciated clearly. 

Rose scoffed. “You did _ too_.” He shook his head and Rose’s eyes softened. “_Really_?”

He shrugged, folding his own arms over the table, shoulders slumping as he joined her in quiet dejection. “I don’t go out of my way to pester people I don’t like. I don’t even think about them.”

“Really.” 

Rose’s smiling cheek rested against her arm and their eyes met with quiet understanding. It was like a ceasefire of sorts had been declared, a small distraction from the Cold War. A soccer match between opposing sides because it was Christmas and some things were too important, too human. 

It didn’t count.

Scorp continued, “I thought you were a stuck up, entitled twat --”

“_What_?”

“-- which, I might add, was _ before _ I realised you were a mess. But I never hated you.”

“Really?” She huffed, scowling into her arms. “Stuck up?!”

Anxious, high-strung and temperamental she could get. But stuck up?

He rolled his eyes, hand reaching out again and falling right before it touched her. Rose’s breath got caught in her throat, heat rising, and she hid her face back in her arms.

She reaped what she _ sowed_.

“I just assumed,” he said softly. “You didn’t exactly project an approachable aura.”

“Neither did you.”

She felt something on her head and it took her a few seconds to register it as Scorp’s hand. Her lips pressed together and she kept her eyes closed, unmoving. 

Terrified the moment would break, terrified he’d stop. 

“Yes, and I _ am _ arrogant and self-involved,” he said with a laugh, gently stroking her hair for a few seconds before stopping and gripping the very top of her head. “_You’re _ just awkward. And very, _ very _ sensitive.”

“I’m not.” She peered over the top of her arm at him. He lifted a single eyebrow and she let out a small snort. “Fine, maybe a bit. Did I really come off as an arrogant cow?”

“Not a cow, dearest,” he protested faintly, hand dropping to her wrist again. “Never a cow. And Al always stood up for you, I just never believed him. But you were _ very _ condescending sometimes.”

“Well, you were too, so —”

“Yes, I know.” He held out his hand and tugged at one of her curls in a way that made her heart pound against her ribcage - a friendly reminder that yes, this was dangerous even if she didn’t want it to stop. “I was a wanker and you were a twat and we were quite awful to each other.” He paused for a second and grinned to himself, a soft smile on his face. “It _ was _ fun though.”

“It was.”

“You used to hex me a lot,” he mused. “In retrospect, you should have been scrubbing cauldrons far more often than you were.”

“The teachers liked me better and they always assumed the worst of you,” she said, shrugging, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards. “It was _ profoundly _ unfair.”

“It was. But then again, what with you being the awkwardest bird in the whole wide world you needed all the help you could get.”

“Not with adults I wasn’t,” she protested. “I was absolutely _ charming_. I actually think it’s gotten worse with adults than it used to be now that I am one.”

"Plus you _ tattled_."

"I did," she said with a shadow of a smile that was mirrored in his eyes. "You always figured I wouldn't because tattling was against the laws of teenagehood --"

"-- and then you always did anyway.” 

“I know I wasn’t supposed to, but it wiped the smarmy smirk off your face.”

“Teacher’s pet.”

“Arrogant tosser.”

They grinned at each other and Rose held her breath, eyes crinkling with apprehension. Scorp’s eyes hardened, his hand retreating back under the safety of his chin. 

After a few seconds of devastating quiet, Rose asked softly, “It’s not going back to normal, is it?” 

“No,” he said, shaking his head with a small smile.

“Ever?”

“I’m working on it.” He let out a bitter laugh. “There’s not exactly an off switch, is there?”

“Not that I know of.”

Her aching heart throbbed. Just once. A painful reminder that this was on her.

“I figured.” He buried his face on his arms and his shoulders shook with laughter. “In any case, you’re incredibly hard to get over. Think about _ that _ the next time you’re in the throes of insecurity.”

Rose’s hands twitched, itching to reach over. She balled them into fists and let out a wretched chuckle. “I definitely won’t.”

A miserable silence fell upon them and Rose hid her face in her arms and closed her eyes. 

Quietly, she reached out until the tips of her fingers found his arm. She felt him stiffen at her touch, heard him shuffle a little. 

Just when she’d closed her hand and was about to pull away, regret biting at her stomach, she felt the brush of skin pulling her fingers closer until her hand was resting on the crook of his arm.

Cold fingers rested over it for a second, as clammy as hers - a silent testament to the breakdown that was happening behind the closed doors of their hearts - and Rose’s hand blindly searched for his until their fingers were entwined.

It was so _ unbearably _natural.

It fit. 

_ They _ fit. 

“This doesn’t help,” he said quietly. 

“I’m sorry.” Rose’s fingers tried slipping away, only to be trapped as his hand closed around hers.

“I’ll get over it, I promise.”

_ I’ll get over you_, was what he meant. 

Worst of all, she believed him.

“How’s work?” she asked quietly. 

The shabbiest of white flags.

“Good.”

The flimsiest of answers.

The new status quo, built with bricks of stoic politeness and incessant coddling.

She wanted politeness to die in a ditch.

Just as she was about to lose her everloving chill, his hand gave hers a tug and he continued, “One of my kids reminds me of you.”

Well, her ovaries and her heart had just simultaneously exploded.

“She’s cute,” he continued, and here Rose could see the smile in his voice, “terrified of flying. Except, of course, she’s six and you’re a grown adult.” She let out a chuckle and he soldiered on. “You should _ see _ some of them. One of them is like a shrunk up version of Teddy, minus the whole Metamorph thing, of course, but the face is _ uncanny_.”

Like he’d been saving the words all this time and they were finally coming out. Rose lifted her head to peek at him and found him staring at her already. 

“Oh, and there’s this _ one kid--” _

Tentative. Hand not so much as resting on hers as hovering, presumably in case she wanted to run. Her fingers tightened around his and he bit his lower lip for a second before powering right through, a faint smile on his face.

“-- there’s this one kid, Eustace - yes, you heard me, _ Eustace _ \-- who sounds like he’s seventy instead of seven --”

“Really, _ Scorpius_?” she asked, sniggering. “You sure you want to mock poor Eustace?”

Scorp snorted. “That’s rich, Rose _ Ginevra_.” 

“Fancy glass ceiling you got there, Scorpius _ Hyperion_.”

Just like that. Just like before. Just a little more tentative and a lot more dangerous.

It would pass, Rose was sure of it. And it would go back to normal.

“Why were you _ really _ crying the other day?” he asked quietly after a while. Rose blinked and he plowed on, “I’ve been meaning to ask but --”

Still trying to fix her - like she could possibly _ be _ fixed.

“Not the shoe, for sure,” Rose said, equally quiet. She took a deep breath and tried to sort through it, pinpoint what had happened. “It happens sometimes. There isn’t really a _ cause _ per se, it’s more of a…”

_ Symptom_. 

Scorp was staring at her like she was nuts and when she didn’t finish, he asked, “It _ happens _?”

Her body catching up with her, punishing for everything she’d done or hadn’t. Her mind snapping like a twig under the pressure that she’d been ignoring. Her threadbare soul sobbing as it tried to find purchase.

She couldn’t tell him that. She could barely admit it to herself. Instead, she shrugged. “It happens.”

“Shit doesn’t just ‘happen’, Rose.”

“I _ know_, alright?” Her voice was a whisper and she felt the familiar warmth prefacing a cry climbing up her chest. “I just don’t know how to… what to... I figured after I left my parents’...”

She constantly felt like she was reacting as life happened around her, dodging some blows, getting knocked down flat by others. Like time was flying straight past her and Rose could do nothing else but try to keep up. Like all the shit she had to do would keep expanding to fit whatever time she had.

Words died, refusing to be let out, the mere thought of them an attack to everything holding her together.

She pushed the thought away but, unlike every single other time, it lingered. 

_ What did she want? _

_ What would make her happy? _

Penny’s words had been dancing incredibly annoying circles around her mind lately.

“Did you have Expectations?” He said it like it was capitalised, a Thing. “What did you think was going to happen?”

“I have no idea,” she said, letting out a watery laugh. “I really don’t know.”

She hadn’t suddenly become a functioning adult just by moving out and pretending to be one, same as moving to Greenland wouldn’t turn her into a proper Healer. Same as she could fall in love with Scorp all she wanted, but it didn’t matter because it wasn’t like she could keep him. 

Things didn’t magically change. More specifically, people didn’t. More specifically… _ she _ couldn’t.

But Merlin did she want to. Looking at the hand in hers and the quiet sense of determination in his eyes, she _ wanted _ to.

Her hand slipped from his grasp and she rested her cheek on her hand. "Tell me more about this Eustace who sounds like he's seventy. Do you suppose the old man name is what turned him into an old man or did they name him after an old man because he was _born_ one?"

"Still undetermined," Scorp said, forcing a smile onto his face. "The other day he gave me a very stern lecture about how it was a shame men didn't wear proper robes anymore."

They'd get there. He'd get over her and she'd get over him and they'd be fine.

Just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes, here we are again. 💛 💛 💛
> 
> 1\. For those of you who missed it, I wrote a scorose four-shot this week called Good News, Bad News and it's /cute/, you can go read that as well! ❤️
> 
> 2\. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, namely EnolaScamander, MariaIsabel, Arwin_Fred, odd_aben, LordLockhart1770, fieryredhairedbeaste, nobodysperfect, Anna_Elephant, TheVera and DukeSilver983.
> 
> 3\. Witch Slap is two months away from being two years old and 136k words long. That's a LOT of words. Wild ride guys, with a lot of support and overall niceness and I thank you from the bottom of my heart!
> 
> As ever, lemme know what you think! Love y'all, have a great one, hope you're all staying tighttt and healthy! 💛 💛 💛


	27. Overgrowth, Undergrowth and Other Rubbish Theories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who haven't yet, I advise you read the one-shot called "You Just Carry The Squiggle". It's not mandatory or anything, but I made a reference to it and I'm far too pleased with it so. Yes. Read it.

**May 1st 2028**

There were two types of growth for flying - and really, for life in general. The first was undergrowth, a progressive, cumulative headway. Teeny, tiny steps into the unknown. Undergrowth was consistent and reliable and, most importantly, it felt _ safe_.

Scorp was currently promoting the second.

“Alright, broom in hand, close your eyes, no, _ don’t look down _\--” 

She’d looked.

“You can do it,” he groaned mildly, leaning against the slim balustrade. “You’ve _ been _ this high before.”

Amy, who was sporting a somewhat greenish hue, stumbled back until she was sitting down and clutching the thin metal rail, stuttering, “N-no I haven’t!”

N-no, indeed she hadn’t, but that wasn’t the point. The point was she _ could_. 

“You just close your eyes and hover down.”

Overgrowth was akin to kicking baby birds off a nest. It happened when the unknown smacked you on the face and you had to rise up to it, to face it head-on because you had no other choice.

Undergrowth was proactive; overgrowth was _ reactive_. It was all about taking a step that was larger than your leg - in this case, a controlled step. It was all about pushing personal boundaries and leaving with a sense of ‘if I can do that, I can do anything’.

Amy didn’t seem to appreciate the poetry of it at all - possibly because she was a child. Which didn’t make particular sense because, in general, children trusted adults - if you told a kid to jump off a window because they could fly, trust would tendentially compel them to do so.

Amy was a Muggleborn though. That meant to her Suspension of Disbelief was being stretched thin.

“I can’t,” she said, her shaking hand clutching the railing for dear life. “I _ can’t_.”

If she held it any tighter she’d be hugging it.

“If I didn’t think you could do it, we wouldn’t be here.” Scorp rolled his eyes and walked over closer to her and sat on the very edge of the building, feet dangling a solid five stories off the ground. He breathed in and let out a relieved sigh - adrenaline brought a sense of clarity to him that few other things in life did. “Come here.”

Amy, on the other hand, wasn’t looking particularly amused at the concept. “I can’t.”

“You can crawl over if you feel safer,” he said calmly, “but the floor’s not going anywhere.”

Crawl she did, on her hands and knees until she was closer to the edge, dragging her broom behind her with apprehension spelled all over her face. Earlier she’d given a tumble that was clearly still fresh in her mind and letting her end class with that ailing recollection was a mistake.

You always had to finish on a high, else the low would sink its claws on you and drag you down.

“You think too much.” Scorp rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to let you fall.”

The tiny Rose Weasley scowled at him. “I know you’re not.”

“Good.” He patted the spot next to her and she gingerly approached the edge. “You know we’ll end this class with you pointing at this and screaming ‘mummy, mummy, I flew off that’ right?”

“Can’t we go back to doing upside-down drills?”

Scorp snorted. “A week ago you were asking to go back to doing regular drills and now you _ want _ to go do The Terrifying Upside-Downs?”

“They’re _ easy _now,” she pointed out. “This is... scary.”

“Last week upside down-drills were scary. What does _ that _ tell you?” Scorp rolled his eyes at the lack of response and got up to his feet, pulling his own broom to him. “Come on.” He held out a hand to her and hauled her bodily until she was lying on the middle portion of his broom.

Without warning, he jumped off the ledge.

Amy’s shrieking rang in his ears all the way down until he stabilised the broom, hovering passively mid-air and her shriek petered down as excitement took over instead. She looked down at the other students doing their low-hanging flying. “They’re so _ tiny_!”

“Yep. Care to give it another go? I’ll let you drop water balloons all over them.”

“_Can we_?”

“Well, they’re doing evasion drills. It’s thematic.”

Overgrowth was thrilling, the beating of seemingly insurmountable odds with nothing but your wits and reserves of resilience you didn't know you had.

* * *

**May 5th 2028, 19h00**

Al was exhibiting what was clearly suspicious behaviour: he'd discarded the usual t-shirt, jeans casual in favour of what he considered to be his best shirt. That and he kept stealing lovelorn glances at the clock and looking blankly _ through _ them.

Scorp had issues of his own, but he wasn’t so oblivious that he hadn't noticed the telltale signs: the wanker had a date. He also wasn't delusional enough to believe Al had gone through this transcendental change all on his own, no.

Two weeks had gone by now. 

Two weeks of Al occasionally snapping about missing shirts and fussing about hair. Scorp’ had tried to dredge the information out of him, scoop it out with several types of spoons, some delicate, some as subtle as a CAT excavator. 

“Who’s the lucky bird?” he asked for the n-th time, leaning against the bathroom’s doorframe as he watched Al closing the buttons of the shirt he hadn’t worn since the good ol’ days when the She-Devil had ruled his life. 

The answer up until now had been 'Yardley'. This time, however, Al smiled over at him. 

“I’ll tell you,” he said sweetly, flicking a hand through an unruly strand of hair instead of dodging the question as he had been doing for the past week. “_If _you tell me what the hell is going on between you and my cousin.”

“Nothing, that’s what.” Scorp almost laughed at how depressingly true that statement was. “I can’t tell you something when there’s nothing _ to _ tell.”

“No truer words have been spoken: I’m meeting no one either,” Al said with a smirk, rubbing a hair through his dark hair and preening in front of the mirror. “Yards likes it when I dress pretty.”

That shirt was a sign: Al had almost burned it a couple of times but reassessed when he’d remembered, rather fondly, that Zara had said it made his eyes look greener. Vanity and nostalgia had won over anger and grief and he’d stuffed the thing away in Scorp’s closet. Out of sight and out of mind... until he’d all but demanded it back a few days ago.

Not for the sake of burning it, no. For the sake of _ wearing _it.

Now, Al was a reactive sort of bugger. Any personal improvement he suffered was purely accidental and due to external circumstances.

_ Overgrowth_.

Al was holding crucial information hostage. Crucial because there was a small chance the She-Devil had crawled her way out of whatever circle of Hell she inhabited and was dragging him back down with her.

“Just tell me it’s not that... _ hellion _ again.”

“I’ll tell you.” Al sniggered. “_ If _ you tell me why you spent the past month avoiding my cousin like she had a contagious rash.”

“Al, I’m serious. If you’re back with her, we _ need _ to talk about it, you can’t just--”

“I’m serious too,” the prat interjected, picking up Scorp’s cologne - the absolute_ cheek _of him - and dabbing it purposely on his neck. “We _do_ need to talk about it. I’m feeling frankly distraught without you there to over-analyze every scrap of information. It’s _such_ a shame.”

“Al, you can’t avoid telling us forever.” Scorp scoffed, a scowl on his face. “Last time wasn’t pretty and I had to be there to pick up the pieces and--”

“See, that’s what good friends do. They let their friends help them and mock them through their heartache. And since the two of you are indulging your petty little statute of secrecy” -- and here Al stared very intently at a pot of Rose’s unopened face cream -- “your gossip privileges are being withheld until further notice.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, talk to me you wanker!”

“I did have an excellent sandwich for lunch,” Al continued, opening the pot and picking up a glob with his hand, which he streaked on his cheeks like war paint. “Rotisserie chicken, pineapple, lettuce…” 

“What in the world does that matter? I don’t care about chicken, I care --”

“Sorry, mate. I'm not wasting any meaningful conversation on you until you fess up.” Al huffed over at him with a smile, patting his shoulder on his wait out the loo. “I have a personal betting pool going on about which of you two will crack first. My money’s on Rose… when she finally notices something’s off. Might take her a while, but I’ve been dropping hints. It might be sooner rather than later.”

Scorp straightened himself up. “I’ll just have to ask Yardley, won’t I?”

“Good for you. I’ll have you know that Yardley’s answer will be exactly the same as mine,” Al said, turning to face him and giving him a mock bow, retreating backwards with his arms still open before he whipped around and let out a laugh. “_What’s going on with you and Rose_?”

There was something theatrical about the way he picked up a handful of Floo and threw it on the fireplace, saying the address to Yardley’s Place with gleeful and completely unnecessary enunciation.

* * *

“You should’ve seen his face,” Al yelled, sniggering as he stepped out of the fireplace. “He’s panicking right now. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on that wall.” When he got no reply he howled, “Yards?”

He followed the sound of Yardley’s laughter and his girlfriend’s soft voice until he found them in the kitchen, Yards sitting on his counter and Melissa on a barstool against the kitchen aisle, twirling a glass of red in her hand.

His heart practically purred at the sight of her and her smile: gorgeous, outrageously gorgeous, more and more so every passing day like he kept finding new things to gawk at. 

Al felt his cheek muscles straining to accommodate his happiness and he asked, “Do you suppose installing a network of spying spells on the flat would be going too far?”

Yardley and Melissa respectively said “No” and “Yes”.

“Does that mean I get the deciding vote?” Al rolled his eyes and casually glided to her - like he didn’t, in fact, want to skip over and twirl her around and kiss her until they were both out of breath. 

“It’s not a democracy,” Melissa answered with a small laugh, getting up to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she placed a hand on his cheek, stroking it softly. “Hey, you.”

“Hello, darling,” he said, leaning down and nuzzling his nose against hers. “Sorry for leaving you with this wanker for so long.”

Her mouth closed the distance, moulding against his, eyes fluttering shut --

“I’d offer you a room, but we have dinner plans,” Yardley said, letting out a cough. “Diane Fawcett waits for no shag - no matter how short.”

“Nooo, nonono,” Al moaned against her mouth and pulled her closer. Her hand was at his chest, keeping him at bay. “Just one more!” 

“One more.” His girlfriend gave him the stingiest - _ stingiest_, really, absolutely miserly - of pecks before stepping neatly away, a small smile on her face. “Nope, just the one - you’re making Yards uncomfortable.” 

Terribly sensible his girlfriend - if he ever came face to face with her Commonsense, he had a few choice words for it. 

His sensible, impossibly kind girlfriend. His _ girlfriend_. 

Merlin.

“Listen to the woman, Potter,” Yardley said with a smug grin, clearly aware of the havoc she kept wreaking on him. “No rubbing it on all of us who are single, it’s frankly unethical.”

Al rolled his eyes, letting himself fall on the barstool next to her. “You’ve been single for all of a _ month_, Yards.”

“But the pain is immemorial,” the wanker said in return, clasping a dramatic hand to his chest. 

Melissa’s eyes were soft. “You poor dear.”

“_Immemorial_,” Al sniggered. “You’ll find that Yards has an extraordinarily _ short _ memory, love.”

“You see, unlike _ some people_, I don’t resort to moping.” The wanker’s hand dropped to the counter and a slow grin bled across his face - one that Al found himself returning wholeheartedly now that he wasn’t, in fact, moping. “Hopefully by tonight I’ll be Mr Alastair Fawcett and you two can go back to your revolting PDA.”

Diane Fawcett was to Alastair Yardley what Moby Dick was to Captain Ahab - a foolish pursuit that yielded very little results. A faint crush that he’d been harbouring since they were both kids and that had led to equal amounts of everything and nothing.

Yards kept circling round to her whenever she was in town claiming she was terribly good company. She’d call him every once in a while for a date of sorts when she was back in Britain and then leave him to dry, hanging by his heartstrings as she went off to travel the world again. 

She _ was, _in fact, terrible entertaining company, full of stories of foreign lands and anecdotes that you’d laugh at months later in the shower, but by now none of them - hopefully, Yardley included - had any hopes for Diana Fawcett.

Melissa cleared her throat. “Al, no offence, but I’d like your cousin and your best friend --”

“_I’m _ the best friend,” Yardley interrupted, handing her a glass. “Scorp’s just a prat.”

“-- your cousin and Scorp… to, I don’t know,_ like me _?” 

Al let out a laugh at the concept of Scorp actually liking anyone without being held at wandpoint - which, honestly, was part of the reason he didn’t want to tell him. Zara had been clueless and she’d somehow pushed past Scorp’s defences with sheer… naiveté. Melissa, however, wasn’t naive and if Scorp felt the need to act the way he’d acted around Evelyn, Al might just feel the need to hex him.

“It’d be nice if we could all hang out.” Melissa reached a hand and ran it gently through the back of his hair as she continued, “Maybe? Just a little? And they can’t if you’re busy…”

She hesitated and Yardley let out a laugh, finishing the sentence for her: “Manipulating them? Tormenting them?”

Al sniggered. “Sounds about right. But they’re not talking about it so I figured this at least might make them see the error of their ways.”

He didn’t give two shits about whether they got together or not - for all he cared, Scorp could describe what shagging Rose felt like in excruciating detail. What he did mind was them clamming up and making him feel like he was _ unwelcome _in this trio of his making.

If they were rebelling and making it a duet with a third wheel, the least they could do was give him notice.

“They’re worried.” Melissa’s tone was soft and not at all forceful and Al felt the familiar jolt of resentment and rebellion being soothed under her gentle hand.

“I’ll tell them,” Al said, rolling his eyes. “Not that they deserve to know, the wankers.”

Her hand dropped, trailing down his arm to clasp his hand. “_Good_.”

* * *

“Did you notice the shirt?” Scorp asked, taking a seat on the chair opposite Rose's. 

The blank look she sent him told him that Al could’ve been dressed as a clown and she wouldn’t have noticed anything off.

“He’s _ dating_.”

Rose’s eyebrows furrowed upwards. “Dating.”

“Yes, _ dating_, Rose. He’s wearing the Mythical Shirt.”

“There’s a mythical shirt?” 

She was apparently unaware of the Mythical Shirt. 

“The hellion’s Mythical Shirt. The one with--” Scorp took a deep breath and let it out. “Ahhh. What I mean is he might be dating _ her _ again.”

Rose’s eyes widened slightly. “_No_.”

“Yes. And he’s ransoming it in exchange for…” Scorp’s own forehead furrowed. “Well, for _us_. What went on. He’s used to guessing it or us telling him and now...”

‘Us’. That aborted ‘us’ that had never really happened.

He knew he’d get over Rose at one point, move on to some other girl and potentially live happily ever after. She wasn’t _ necessary _ to his happiness.

But for now, he still _ wanted _ her. Like no one ever before.

“_No_. Oh no.” The colour drained entirely from her face. “He met her the other day.”

_ Oh no_.

“He didn’t tell me.” Scorp swallowed. “What did he say about it?” 

Rose closed the book she was reading. “That she mentioned maybe having coffee with him and... He had that _ face _ on, you know the one, that _ smile _ he does! He was _ baiting _ me, wasn’t he?”

“He’s doing it _ joyfully _ too.”

“It’s not her.” Rose’s nose wrinkled. “He’s playing us.”

“Yardley knows.”

“If Yardley knows then it’s definitely not her.” She let out a laugh. “He was ready to burn her in effigy.”

Scorp’s mind started churning again in face of her certainty. “And Al wouldn’t volunteer the information if it were her. In fact, he’d be hiding at Yards’ right now. Or, since Yards would disapprove, he might even go to his parents’.”

“Lily will know,” Rose said, eyebrow raised. “I’m sure she still talks to the succubus, she’s never burned a damned bridge in her entire life.”

“Lily _ might _ know,” Scorp corrected. 

Knowing Lily, Al could’ve been waving both hands in front of her face and telling her he’d married the she-devil and she’d barely notice him.

Rose cocked her head to the side, face wooden and deadpanned, “You really think she wouldn’t register her brother getting back with his bitch of an ex?”

“Not if she happened to be randomly distracted by something else.”

“It’s not _ random_,” Rose said, snorted disdainfully. “Lily always focuses on what’s _ important _.”

Scorp’s eyebrow scrunched up. “You mean there’s a method to the madness?”

Come to think of it, there might be _ some _ logic to it.

Rose rolled her eyes and snorted, pulling her notes aside. “Trust me, if he’s dating her, she’ll know. And _ she _ at least won’t blackmail you.”

* * *

**May 7th 2028**

Lily’s newest job was apparently at Florian’s. Close enough to the Transportation for a quick nip after work... only to find that Rose was apparently right.

“They’re _ not _ dating,” Lily said, stopping the clickety-clack of the register she’d been working and focusing her gaze on him. “I had tea with her just the other day and she mentioned she’d seen him and it was nice but like… nothing else.”

“How can you _ still _ get along with her?” Scorp sputtered, leaning over the counter of Florian’s. “She’s a --”

“_Don’t… _ finish that sentence,” Lily scolded gently. “She’s not like... a _ monster_. Giving Al the boot doesn’t _ make _ her one.”

Scorp swallowed the anger in his mouth. “After six years of stringing him along, she told him she didn’t feel the same! Out of the _ blue_! They were looking at _ flats _ together for goodness’ sakes!”

“Oy Miss.” A tall, gangly teenager stepped next to the register. “I’d like a scoop of --”

“What, you’d rather she wait six more years before doing it?” Lily continued, completely ignoring the kid. 

“-- almonds, strawberry and cream.”

“Like, marry him, have a bunch of kids and _ then _ break-up with him?”

“_Miss_?”

“Lils, you have a customer,” Scorp pointed out, tilting his head at the kid.

Lily’s unseeing eyes flickered from Scorp to the side and then back at Scorp as they did whenever her attention was torn. Like the kid didn’t even _ exist_.

“What did you want again?” The words were coming out of her mouth, but the previous frown was still there - which meant her brain was only processing this at a very, very superficial level. “Almonds and…”

Scorp rolled his eyes and stepped slightly behind the counter, punching the conveniently labelled buttons for her and pulling out the ticket which he handed over to the kid. “Bugger off,” he told him. “Shoo.”

“How much--”

“If you bugger off _ now_, it’s free.”

The pimpled youth scurried off, apparently convinced. Scorp pulled a couple of sickles from his wallet and Lily mechanically flung them into the register.

“You were saying about the She-Devil,” Scorp said, waving a hand for Lily to carry on.

“She’s _ not _ a bad person,” she continued, her eyes refocusing. “Al was sad and you were angry and that’s _ fine_, but you all banded around him like he was a poor, abused--”

“He _ was _ a poor and abused little puppy who didn’t do _ anything _!”

“She didn’t do anything _ either_,” Lily pointed out. “You broke up with Kate, does that make you a bad person? Or her, for that matter?”

“That’s _ different_! For one, it was _ mutual_. Al’s still holding a torch for her after a year and a _ half_, that’s the sort of thing you fight for! Secondly--”

“Scorp, she just… didn’t _ love _ him anymore,” Lily said, shaking her head. “You can’t force someone to love someone else any less than you can force them to fall out of love. The fact that you, James, Rose, Yards, Mum, Dad, _ everyone _ keeps shitting all over her… it vilifies her. Turns her into something she’s not.”

“A sadistic, soul-sucking harpy?”

“For the love of Merlin,” Lily said, rolling her brown eyes. “It’s like you all completely forgot what she’s like! _You _ always claimed she was the most boring waste of space you’d ever laid eyes on.”

Flashbacks of mind-numbingly dull conversations with Zara Spencer flashed through his mind and Scorp nodded with a scowl, “She _ was _ dry as dust. And poor Al --”

“And how can a dull person be _ mean_?” Lily shook her head. “And this was never about ‘poor Al’ in the first place because ‘poor Al’ doesn’t talk poorly of her, _ ever_. You all felt betrayed. You all felt like you’d failed him and you blamed _ her_.”

He _ had _ felt betrayed. 

He’d spent far too much time and energy trying to ward her off Al at first. _She’d_ been unflinchingly boring and polite and had, against all odds, stuck to him. She’d won through sheer willpower and wishy-washy chat about soul-suckingly tedious topics and then she’d stuck around for _six_ _years_. 

And then, without warning, she’d buggered off and straight-up vanished and left a completely unforeseen wreck in her wake.

“She could’ve stuck around,” Scorp said helplessly. Helplessly because Lily was right. “She could’ve _ tried _ to fix it, _ worked _ on it. They were together for _ six _ years!”

“It wasn’t just a matter of fixing it or not. Plus, Al was the one who told her he needed space. You all didn’t exactly help with your rallying cries to burn the witch.” Lily rolled her eyes. “If he’d let her stick around they’d be good friends by now. Instead...”

“Instead he spent a year moping and being heartbroken and it’s _ our _ fault somehow?! On what side are you on?” 

“Why would I have a side? This isn’t _ Quidditch_,” Lily said, letting out a laugh. “And she was like… _ super _ happy that she saw him, I’ll have you know. They had a nice chat.”

“They had a nice chat,” Scorp repeated blankly. “If he’s not dating _ her… _ does that mean he’s dating someone _ else_?” 

“He’s not dating Zara for sure.”

“Al’s _moving_ _on_?”

The very thought was ludicrous, but he might just be. The pieces clicked together all at once: _ that’s _ why he looked so smug, _ that’s _ why he was pulling out Taboo Shirts. 

_ That’s _ why he’d been skipping around the place for the last few days, looking _ happy_.

“Like… I _ know _ he’s not moving _ backwards_,” Lily said, eyebrows scrunched. “You all should give it a go. Treating her like she’s You-Know-Who doesn’t help. She’s not the sodding boogeyman.”

“But _ isn’t _ she?”

Lily rolled her eyes, ignoring his mild attempt at humour. “Get over yourself. All this resentment isn’t healthy. It’s _ easier_, but you’re better than that.”

Ah, but was he?

* * *

“How did it go? Is he back with the harpy or not? Do we need to stage an intervention?”

Scorp deflected all her questions and wordlessly handed Rose an ice-cream cone as he brushed past her usual table before he let himself fall face first on the couch, with the look of someone who’d been thoroughly Lilified.

“He’s not back with... _ Zara _ at all,” he mumbled against the pillow.

Rose nodded approvingly. “That’s good. Honestly, if he’d gone back to that--”

“_Don’t_, " Scorp said, rolling around to look at her, "call her anything... _ mean_.”

There were a series of patently _ mean _ insults on the tip of her tongue and Rose bookmarked them for later. 

Clearly, they were having an epiphany of sorts.

“Why not?”

Ice-cream dribbled all over her hand and Rose gave it a mild lick, eyes flickering over to Scorpius with the anxiety one gets when licking ice-cream in front of anyone of the male gender. 

Fortified by the knowledge he wasn’t actually looking, she went to town on the thing.

“According to Lily, we’re dicks,” Scorp said simply, palm dragging past his eyes through his hair as he stared at the ceiling. “Complete wankers.”

Rose shook her head mildly and let out an amused chuckle. “What did she say?”

“She didn’t actually say we’re dicks but… Do you remember Zara?”

This was more serious than she’d thought. “Of course I remember Zara. She was…”

Rose struggled for words that wouldn’t be ‘_mean_’.

“_Boring _ is the word you’re looking for,” he offered. “Middle of the road, mediocre. Dull as dishwater. Talking to her was always about as entertaining as watching paint dry.”

Rose sniggered. “I thought we weren’t doing ‘mean’. But yes, she was all that. Even if we never agreed on anything, we always did agree that Al was _ far _ too good for her.”

The ice-cream was something like mint and chocolate chips, along with something fruity that definitely didn’t pair well with it and something nutty that sent her palate into complete disarray - a Lily ice-cream if she’d ever seen one. Still, it was ice-cream.

“Rose, she was dull as a spoon. The reason we didn’t see it coming was because… well, because she was _ dull as a spoon_.” 

Scorp let out a desperate, almost angry sigh and Rose turned on her chair to face him because this was… _ odd_.

“How is _ that _ not insulting?”

“It is, but it’s not vague. She was plain old boring Zara Spencer. And she _ hurt _ Al. And we _ let _ her. And then…”

Rose felt like she needed more ice-cream for this. “And then...?”

“And then nothing. She was always _ irrelevant_.”

Alright, this was becoming downright eerie. “Scorp, a couple of hours ago you hated her.”

He let out a laugh. “Do _ you_? Do you seriously _ hate _ her?”

It felt like a trick question, but Scorp’s eyes met hers and Rose _ finally _ realised what he was saying. Nights spent chatting outside the Potter house, blankets draped on their legs came to mind. Her, Lily, Al, Holly, James and… Zara. There had also been a binary shopping trip for one of Al’s birthdays that had felt a lot like brain-death.

“I hate what she did to Al but…”

“But not Zara herself,” Scorp completed, nodding.

“Not her,” Rose said, shaking her head. “No, not Zara herself. Do you?” 

“I’d rather snog a Dementor than spend five minutes with her, but I don’t hate her - she’s far too boring to deserve that sort of effort.”

Rose smirked. “What, too good to hate her now?”

Apparently, they still weren’t done with the epiphany.

“Can you believe she was with him for maybe ten minutes and--” There was still an expression of incredulity on his face. “-- and he’s moving on. Ten minutes. We spent almost a year and a _ half _ doing crowd control and…” He shook his head. “Ten minutes with that mind-numbing waste of space and he’s… _ moving on _.”

“Holy _ shit_.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds. 

Rose bit down on her ice-cream with almost aggression and helplessly shook her head with, concluding, “We’re dicks.” They stood in silence before the silver lining to it all smacked her on the face. “At least we don’t have to tell Al a damned thing.”

Scorp looked back at her, forehead scrunched. “Would it be too bad if we did?”

Rose bit down on her lip at the hurt tone on his voice. “I don’t know.”

“He won’t actually _ do _ anything about it,” Scorp pointed out. “He won’t talk about it if you don’t.”

“No,” Rose agreed. “He wouldn’t. But he’d _ look _ at us funny.”

“He’s been looking at us funny for _ months_, love.” He laughed at her incredulous face. “What, you can’t tell me you haven’t noticed. He does that thing, you know, where he looks at you like he’s _ omniscient_.”

She knew the exact Thing he was talking about. 

Unfortunately, on her part, that Thing was extremely inconvenient.

“Well, _ I’m _ not going to tell him,” Rose said, getting up to her feet and brushing the crumbs from the cone off her legs. 

“Can I?”

Rose huffed. “If _ you _ want to tell him, you’re welcome to. Hell, tell the whole world if you want: _ I don’t care_.”

“Rose--”

“Don’t ‘Rose’ me,” she said, getting up to her feet and glaring at him. “It’s your business as much as it is mine and if you want Al to be in the know, then you’re in your sodding right.”

Ah, yes, familiar annoyance. Simmering irritation. 

“Rose, come on,” Scorp said, getting up to his feet. “You can’t be serious. I’m not telling him if you don’t want me to.”

“Oh, no no no.” She took a step forward, anger pouring over her. “If you want to tell him, you _ tell _ him. Just don’t expect me to give you a standing ovation because...” Because Al knowing would make it all the harder to ignore. “Oh, bugger this,” Rose hissed. “Tell him all you want. It’s not like you have _ other _ friends to vent to.”

The look on his face told her it had been a low blow. “Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Yes,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “It is. What, you don’t like it? Then _ maybe _ you shouldn’t have spouted all that nonsense about--” The words got caught in her throat. About waiting for her. Wanting her. _ Wanting _ her for keeps, which was equal measures insane and terrifying. “We were _ fine _ . We were fine, we were getting along and then you went and _ ruined _ it!”

“Oh, are we assigning blame now? If I recall, _ you _ were the one who _ kissed _ me!” Scorp’s face had gone white, his pupils dark, voice far too low. “I was just following _ your _ lead!”

“Ah see, that was your mistake,” Rose spat back. “Who in their right mind would follow _ my _ lead? Like I actually _ know _ what I’m doing which, I think we’ve established by now, I _ don’t_!”

“Oh, really? You don’t?” 

He was getting closer now, decisive step after decisive step and Rose took a few steps of her own just so she wouldn’t seem intimidated, which was obviously a mistake because he was now _closer_. Close enough that she could smell him, close enough that if she tugged at his shirt she could snog the insufferable smirk off his face. 

“Funny, I could’ve sworn you did. I could’ve sworn you were there too, or was I just having a hyperrealistic daydream?”

Too close, standing in front of each other to the point where her crossed arms were brushing his chest, forcing her to become very acquainted with just how tall he was. Usually, it didn’t matter because he would somehow close the distance, but now he was just towering over her, eyes glued to hers with resentment and hurt. Broad-shouldered and tall, muscular in a completely non-threatening way and a jaw clenched so sharp you could carve a turkey with, the veins on his neck throbbing slightly as he glared at her.

“It was a _mistake_. What, you’re going to lord it over me forever?”

“A mistake you say,” he repeated, shaking his head and stepping away. “_Ah_.”

The momentary anger came toppling down just then. Rather inconveniently, because shouting at him would’ve been far easier, but that hurt, pained 'ah' had sent it tumbling down, immediately replaced with a healthy dose of regret.

Rose swallowed the lump on her throat, eyebrows furrowing. “I didn’t mean that.” 

Her arms unfolded and she reached out to him - and he was immediately one step away. Then two. Then out of reach, where hands couldn’t touch and hugs couldn’t be given and there was a chasm of misery between them that she couldn’t cross. 

Not without words. Not without falling mouth first into him and kissing him until both their lips were raw and in dire need of chapstick.

“Merlin, I _ am _ a creep,” he said quietly. “I should’ve figured it out when I told you I fancied you and your eloquent reply was something on the lines of _ ‘bugger’_.” 

Rose’s eyes softened. “I’m… sorry.”

“Oh, no, _ I’m _ sorry, trust me.” Scorp dragged a hand through his blonde hair, letting out a frustrated laugh. “I just honestly don’t get what you want from me.”

_ Everything. _ She wanted _ everything_.

“I’m fine with being just your friend but there needs to be an actual line,” he continued, shaking his head. “You keep giving me mixed signals. Or maybe I just want them to be signals and you’re not giving me any signals _ at all _ and I _ am_, in fact, a creep.”

Too far for a hug. Too far to actually touch him and make it better. Too far for skin to be a conduit of goodwill. 

“You’re not a creep,” she said carefully. “It’s _ not _ all in your head. It’s…”

Rose shrank under his gaze and she helplessly crumpled back down onto her chair. 

There was still a thin film of reason around her, keeping her safe from this, from getting completely carried away.

That film had nothing to do with how much she’d like to run her fingers through his hair or kiss him better. Love in itself was all good and well but absence didn’t make the heart grow fonder, it let doubt fester. 

What if he changed his mind? 

What if he hurt her? 

What if she hurt him?

What if it all went to shit? She was the one who would have to flush after. She was the one who’d have to pick up the pieces just like she’d had with Jimmy Sodding Thurkell. She was the one who’d feel a gaping hole in her heart where he used to be. 

Hell, when Scorp had been avoiding her those few weeks the hole was there already, a tiny scab that she kept pulling at until it was far too big and unwieldy and bleeding all over the place. She had enough anxiety to commune with on a daily basis that throwing this… this _ aching _ thing in the mix had been _ exhausting_. 

It was the little nagging voice in-between shifts reminding her that all wasn’t well, the whisper between pages saying he was hurt, the hiss in the middle of the night that told her it would never be the same and it was _ all her fault_.

The fact of the matter was, when he was around, the gaping hole that kept screaming for him grew quiet and happy and she felt somewhat at peace. The problem was he couldn’t _ always _ be there.

The fact of the matter was also tremendously unfair judging by the torn look on his face. The look that matched the gaping hole in her chest, like they were both having a terribly intimate, angsty chat and she was just a bystander.

“I can’t…” She hesitated, eyes carefully trained on a very interesting pattern on the carpet right under Scorp’s shoe. “Look, I’m not particularly… I’m not the best at… I...”

_ I like you, like-like you. _

It sounded ridiculous even in her mind - this wasn’t Third Year and he wasn’t sodding Benny Zabini.

“Can’t I just… hug you?” she asked out of sheer desperation.

Scorp rolled his eyes and let himself fall on the couch, a mirthless chuckle coming out of him. “Not just this time, no.”

“Fine. Fucking fine."

She let out a frustrated little hiss, hands frantically assembling her head into a bun for the lack of anything to do, leg furiously jiggling as she scowled at the book in front of her nose.

Scorp scoffed and arranged a pillow under his head, reaching a long arm for the most recent of his books - he always seemed to have a new one living there, hidden somewhere behind, beneath, under the cushions. He pointedly opened it and set out to ignore her.

Rose's eyes were drawn to him over and over and over again until she simply... gave up.

"I do _ like _ you,” she said, after rolling several similar options in her head. She didn’t miss the way his eyes brightened or the way his entire body suddenly was moving toward her, and added a “No no no, I’m not done yet. _Stay_.” 

“Figured it wouldn’t be that easy," Scorp said, letting the book fall onto to his chest with a disgruntled sigh. "It did sound like there was a ‘but’ coming.” 

“I _ like _ you. Like-like you… _ but _ ... this isn’t happening.” She took a deep breath and scowled. “It might not make sense to you but _ this_,” she said, gesturing between them, “isn’t good for me. The friendship part? Top-notch, 10/10 would be friends with you again. But the rest of it I could do without.”

“The kissing part? Or the _ like-liking _ part?”

The miserable sod was poking fun at her. In a way it helped her relax, to tone down the importance of it. Made it somewhat palatable if still vaguely uncomfortable to talk about, like... when you were trapped in a lift with someone whose name you weren't entirely sure you remembered and you hoped against hope you wouldn't have to introduce them to anyone.

No, wait, that was what a full-blown panic attack felt like. Telling Scorpius Malfoy you fancied him was horrible, but not... _that_ uncomfortable. 

“The kissing part’s fine, it’s the…” Rose struggled for words to explain it properly, in a way that wouldn't actually hurt his feelings. “Look, you said you’d _ wait_,” she said, squaring her shoulders again and shaking her head. “I’m not anywhere _ near _ that. Can you understand that?” 

“Sure,” Scorp said, nodding gravely. “But you know you sort of grow into it, over time. It's not--”

Rose let out a frustrated little huff, her foot tapping the floor with annoyance. “This isn't a pair of new shoes I need to break. I’m _leaving_ in three months and change, there’s no time for any growing.” She took a deep breath and met Scorp’s frown with one of her own as she tried to catch back onto what she was saying. “The important thing I’m saying is: you’re _ not _ a creep and I’m sorry if I made you feel like one.”

Scorp snorted, knitting his fingers together at the back of his neck. “The important part is you _ like-like _ me. The rest’s just a depressing backdrop.”

He was never going to let that go, was he?

“Do you get it, though?”

His amused grey eyes met her pleading gaze and he shook his head. “I don’t. At _ all_. You’re turning something that’s incredibly simple into an Advanced Arithmancy problem. Just carry the squiggle, for Merlin’s sake.”

Rose scoffed. “You’re just spewing gibberish now.”

Interesting how as soon as they’d begun talking about it it was somehow… natural. Just like another chat about dishes or bills. 

“You’re basically asking me to pretend,” he enunciated. Rose nodded in return and he rolled his eyes. “You’re telling me you actually do feel something and that we could be the very _ best _ thing and --”

“You don’t know if we’d be the _ best _ thing,” she said, pulling a book onto the desk and huffing. “We could be the very worst thing.”

She was met with nothing but quiet certainty. Steady affection, like he was a stubborn rock - a stubborn rock that she happened to want to climb.

“For someone so smart, you can be singularly thick sometimes.” Scorp rolled his eyes, flopping his legs up on the couch and pulling a book to his chest. “We’d be perfect together if you just took a tiny leap. What’s worse is you know it.”

What was worse was she _ did _ know it in some remote part of her, the bit of her heart that had a Scorp shaped hole in it.

“Don’t be absurd,” she said instead, carefully flicking through her notes on Adenoidal Enchantments. “It’s just a passing fancy, you'll barely remember me after I'm gone.”

“Sure.” Scorp scoffed caustically. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“You’re an arse.”

“An arse that you like-like.”

“Oh, hush. You’re distracting me.”

He mimicked zipping his mouth and Rose found herself hiding a smile behind the palm of her hand as she dove back into her notes.

* * *

**May 15th 2028**

“Seems like a standard case of Gnomish Fever,” Mercedes said, plucking her straight out of her reverie. “Rose?”

Rose peeled her eyes from the charts in front of her to slant a look at Mercedes Lewis’ inquiring face. 

Choi had paired her and Mercedes up and sent them to deal with minor Bugs cases. The steady stream of consultations going in and out of the glorified cupboard they called an office was almost... relaxing. 

_ In_, diagnosis, prescription, _ out_. Rinse and repeat. 

Maybe at first it had been worthy of a panic attack, but now that it wasn’t new anymore, it just… _ was _ . Not scary, not terrifying just… _ reality_. An odd, constant reassurance that _ somehow _ she knew what she was doing.

Sitting on the other side of the undersized desk they were sharing was a concerned mother, all wide eyes and concern for her little angel. On the gurney next to her, the little angel was happily sucking on a lolly, the very picture of hyperactive unconcern.

“Yes,” Rose said reassuringly, her face crinkling into a smile as she watched the kid’s legs dangling to and fro. “_Just _ a case of Gnomish Fever, nothing to worry about.”

“Exactly!”

Rose got up to her feet and opened a nearby cabinet, fishing out a vial with a pink potion. “Two times a day with her lunch and dinner for a week.”

“She’ll be fine in no time,” Mercedes added, filling down the prescription and handing it to her. “Anything else, you can pop by anytime.”

When the door was finally closed and the worried mother and sticky angel were ushered out, Rose shook her head.

“Can’t show indecision, Lewis,” Rose tutted. “They get worried.” Mercedes gave her a sunny smile and Rose found herself smiling back. “What is it? Do I have something on my face?” 

“You look… alright,” Mercedes said carefully. “A few months back, I was getting really worried.” 

Mercedes Lewis had been worried, how quaint. Weren’t it for the fact that she was a living pile of concern for her fellow humans, Rose might’ve felt touched.

Rose quirked an eyebrow at her. “And now you’re not?”

“Not really.“ Mercedes tilted her head to the side, eyes slightly narrowed. “Some days, sure, but not all the time. Back then I felt like you… were floundering. Really, _ really _ floundering. Like you were one day away from lopping someone’s head off on accident.”

Rose nodded, lips pressed together. “And now I’m not?”

Ogden had kept well away from her for months now and, with all the extra time, midterms had come and gone without as much stress as they usually did - barring that one breakdown, but those were just to be expected. 

The fact that she didn’t have to worry about her research proposal anymore might also account for the fact that she wasn’t constantly fretting about it every waking moment of her day. 

For the first time since the year had started, Rose was almost… getting a kick out of her job. 

“Less floundering,” Mercedes said with a happy nod. “Definitely less of a healing accident waiting to happen.”

Rose grimaced. “Bite me, Lewis.”

“No, no, no. I meant… I meant…” 

Who was floundering now, eh? 

Mercedes was saved by the opening door. An old, married couple wobbled into the glorified cupboard they called an office, hand in hand, supporting each other as they faced another day. 

Rose got up to her feet and wordlessly dragged her chair to the other side of the teeny desk.

“So, Mr and Mrs Wallace,” Mercedes asked, offering them a brilliant smile. “I’m Healer Lewis and this is Healer Weasley. What brings you to us today?”

When the couple was out of the room and she was pulling back her chair, Rose couldn’t help saying, “You’re good at this.”

Mercedes blushed to the roots of her hair. “You think so?”

“I do,” she said, frowning slightly. “Why Paediatrics then?”

“You mean why didn't I pick Bugs?” Mercedes asked with a brilliant grin. “I always wanted to work with kids and Healer Jeffers kept asking if I didn’t want to take an internship with them.” Rose sniggered and Mercedes folded her arms defensively over her chest. “I know they hound every woman in the building, but I… _ want _ to.”

Paediatrics kept trying to filch away any person with a uterus. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d accepted an invitation to take a shift there just to end it washed in tears because crying babies made _ her _ cry.

Mercedes, however, was perfect for it. Rose was sure Mercedes walked into Paediatrics and all the colicky babies stopped screeching.

“I gotta say,” Mercedes continued, a small crease between her eyebrows, “I was surprised when I heard you took the Kangerlussuaq Internship.”

Rose’s heart fell to her feet. “You were?”

“Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a _ gorgeous _ opportunity.” Mercedes offered her a wan smile. “But…”

Rose’s pounding heart winced. “But?”

But she wasn’t good enough. But she was a floundering mess. But who in their right mind would send the medical accident in the making to the prominent study...?

“But…” The blond girl shrugged apologetically. “Well, you’d been looking _ happy _ lately. I figured you’d finally found your footing.”

To think bloody Mercedes Lewis, the Human Pacifier, would be the one to pop the bubble.

“Happy,” Rose repeated blankly, her chest filling with gratitude. “You think I’m _ happy_? Here?”

Mercedes nodded, looking confused. “Aren’t you?”

Rose opened her mouth, eyes wide, before closing it back again. “I don’t…”

_ Was _ she_? _Happy? 

The door opened and a young man trickled in, a sheepish look on his face. 

“Good morning, Mr Moore,” Rose said, taking a seat and trying to disguise her scowl. “This is Healer Lewis and I’m Healer Weasley. What can we do you for?”

Throughout the day Mercedes’ and Penny’s words kept weaselling their way into her thoughts. 

_ What made her happy was the only criteria that really mattered. _

_ Wasn’t she happy here? _

Worst of all, loudest of all was Scorp’s voice.

_ We’d be perfect together. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello, there lovelies! As we end this golden month of November, I bring you yet another chapter of this long-winded, obnoxious SLOWburn. I haven't actually proofed this one to hell and back so I apologise if something's... iffy or confusing (let me know in the comments so I can fix it maybe?). 
> 
> 1\. If anyone fancies beta'ing future chapters of this nonsense please do say something as I'm currently... beta'less.
> 
> 2\. As ever thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter 26! Omg, so many people I haven't replied to yet but I promise I will tomorrow when my brain is back online. I did read them all and they somehow fuelled this and a couple of other... future... scenes. 
> 
> Thank you then, to the gorgeous beelabambres, LordLockhart1770 (directly quoted one of your reviews on 'lopped off head' because I found it hilarious), EnolaScamander, Arwin_Fred, odd_aben, HildaCobble, FallenStar22, Anna_Elephant, Imnothere93 and DukeSilver983!
> 
> 3\. Good News is I actually hit my NaNo goal of 50k words in November!!!! (crowds cheer wildly) Bad News is my brain is tired and threatening to collapse under itself - ha, I'm all references today. 
> 
> 4\. What's your stand on smut for this fic?
> 
> As ever your reviews are the fuel that drives all this insane verborrhea so leave a note if you liked it, if you hated it, if you found a glaring typo or something that simply makes no sense at all (it's like five am, I don't know what's what anymore)! Stay safe out there, wherever you hail from! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️


	28. Rockiest of Bottoms

**May 17th 2028**

Al preened all over the living room wearing the green shirt once more — the one that, according to Melissa, made him undeniably handsome. 

He was having one last bit of fun rubbing it in, sporting his best smug, sing-songy ‘I know something you don’t know’ look on his face. Unfortunately, not all of his audience was captive — some of them, if not all, were downright ignoring him.

He cleared his throat once, then twice to call Rose and Scorp’s attention to him and placed both hands on his hips. “I’ve called you here today —”

“You haven’t called us here, we _ live _here,” Scorp interrupted, letting out a snort. 

Rose rolled her eyes. “Let him have his moment, will you?”

“Why thank you, dearest cousin of mine. As I was saying, I _ gathered _you two here today because I have an announcement.”

He paused for effect and looked at them gravely. Somberly, as the occasion demanded — which lasted all of five seconds because his mouth kept twitching into a smile.

“We’re waiting with bated breath,” said Scorpius, rolling his eyes and trying to hide his _ obvious _interest, the wanker. 

Couldn’t he be more like Rose, whose eyes were almost popping out of their sockets with a mix of curiosity and anxiety?

“Don’t mess up his dramatic pauses else we’ll never get it over with.”

Fine — curiosity, anxiety and a little sarcasm.

He’d quite like to have a massive, ten layered cake from whence Melissa could pop out of when he told them, but she’d ruined it all by reminding him it might be a bugger to find one on such short notice.

She and Yardley _ were _popping over when he was done, which was the second-best thing. He could see them now, all chummy by the fireplace waiting for their moment in the sun, getting on like a house on fire. 

It was somewhat reassuring that he could abandon her to him — he’d never quite been able to let Zara alone with any of his friends. 

Melissa, however, was unchanging regardless of company. 

“You see, in the past month you may have noticed some changes. On top of that, the fact that I straight up told you I was dating someone might have clued you in — unless you’re completely daft, which isn’t too far into the realm of the impossible.” 

"You mean when you tried to blackmail us," Scorp said, eyebrows shooting upwards.

“I prefer to think of it as motivational reinforcement.” Al couldn’t help but let out a huff that was equal measures hurt and mocking. “Your cavalier indifference to my well-being aside—”

Rose’s eyes softened and she exchanged a look with Scorpius, who nodded. She continued, “We were actually talking and—”

“Oh no no no. _ Nope_, you had your chance,” Al scolded, lifting a hand to stop her. “Now you damned well wait your turn. This is about _ me_, me me me and no one else. Well, me and _ someone _else.”

“_Oh_?” Rose was now just excitement, no anxiety at all and no discernible sarcasm. “Who is she?”

“Oh, will you just say it already,” Scorp cried impatiently.

“You remember Evelyn?”

“_Evelyn_?” Scorp spat, shaking his head incoherently. “Yardley’s ex?!”

“Well, yes. It’s _ not _her,” he said, grinning. “It’s not Kate either — I tried it, but she’s dead set on marrying that French wanker. I’m still not sure if he’s French or not—”

He was delighted to see Rose’s face flaring into an angry red, matched closely by the dead ashen hue on Scorp’s.

They were both looking _ very _harassed. 

_ Good_.

“—which is good because it’s Melissa.” They stared at him blankly and he clarified, “Melissa Peakes.”

“What, you’re dating a taller Zara, now?” Rose looked indignant. “Merlin, Al, that’s… twisted.”

Okay, now he was indignant. “I’ll have you know that Melissa is _ nothing _like Zara!”

Melissa had actually given him flowers yesterday. _ Flowers _. He’d never actually gotten flowers before in his life and now he sort of understood why girls liked it. 

It wasn’t about the flowers, it was just... _ thoughtful_.

“Urgh, you guys are wankers.” He picked up his Magitech and gave it a half-hearted tap. “You'll see.”

* * *

They were lounging in the living room, Al and Melissa tangled together on the end of the couch, the very picture of happiness. Their fingers entwined, her thigh draped over his stretched leg. Rose was perched on the opposite couch arm, Yardley was sitting cross-legged on the floor and then there was… Scorp. 

He was draped across the armchair, ankle to his knee and a look of amusement on his face. “So, Melissa, please do tell us: what’s one thing you would change about yourself? Apart from, you know, the obvious.”

Something horrific was happening and Rose wasn’t entirely sure _ what _. Her eyes were glued to Scorp - _ her Scorp _\- and not for the usual reasons of vague lusting. 

As if it weren’t enough that Al had suddenly and without any prior warning summoned Yardley and Melissa into their house, which had almost immediately sent Rose into complete disarray. She kept doing odd things out of sheer awkwardness like asking them if they wanted anything to drink when they already _ had _a drink and laughing far too loud, at one point almost choking. 

As if all of this weren’t enough, Scorp was doing this thing where he was… being a _ prat_. Not a lovable prat as usual — an actual, legit, bonafide _ prat_. 

Honestly, at this point, she’d have found choking _ easier_. Sweet release from this torment. 

He kept throwing Melissa low-key unpleasant barbs. She was taking them more or less in stride, but not actually returning them - mostly because she was a functioning adult and not a sodding five-year-old.

What was worse, Al was looking more and more annoyed with each passing second.

“I’m getting another bottle, anyone want a butterbeer?” Several hands raised and Rose tugged at Scorp’s sleeve, hissing a low, “A _ word_?”

She dragged him by the sleeve all the way to the corridor and then to the kitchen, first gently pacing and then downright stomping as the distance increased and her anger simmered.

After carefully closing the door and casting a Silencio around them, Rose finally unleashed her anger. “What do you think you’re doing? What in the _ world _ is _ wrong _with you?!” 

He was staring at her with a vaguely cynical look. “What _ am _I doing?”

“You’re… you’re…” Rose pinched the bridge of her nose, tapping her foot once with annoyance as she tried to actually summon the words as to _ why _ he was being a sodding wanker. “If you _ sneer _ at her one more time, I promise I _ will _ end you! What are you, _ daft _ ?! This girl clearly adores him and she’s gorgeous and nice and, unlike the previous stakeholder, she actually has conversation that’s not just about unknown _ people _and Who-Said-What and Who-Did-What —”

“Rose, she showed us a billion photos of her _ cats_,” Scorp said, as if that justified his behaviour.

“In what world is that a _ bad thing _ ? Did you see the one with the two of them toppling the water bowl and getting all wet and confused? They’re _ adorable_!”

Scorp snorted. “Got a little old after the first nine-hundred thousand.” Adding insult to injury, he punctuated his wankerishness with a snide, “I bet her flat smells fantastic.”

There. Just there. Unapologetic arsholery.

Rose smushed a hand against her red face and dragged it down, taking a deep breath. “This is worse than I thought. I figured Al was exaggerating.”

“About what?”

“You… being a complete wanker. Merlin, it’s awful. If I didn’t—” 

She hesitated, embarrassment rising to her cheeks to join her angry flush.

“_Like-like _me?” he suggested unhelpfully, giving her a phenomenally large grin. “Yes?”

“See!” Rose poked at his chest incredulously. “Why can’t you just give her a smile like that, for Merlin’s sake?!”

“I smile,” he said, shrugging sheepishly. 

“You don’t _ smile_, you _ sneer_. Merlin almighty, I thought the _ smirks _ were obnoxious but this is far _ worse_!”

“What does it matter?” Scorp snorted. “I don’t need her to like me. I don’t particularly want to hang out with her and if she's even as half as invested as she looks, she'll stick. That or she'll be gone, regardless of me.”

Rose dragged a hand through his hair. “No. Just… _ no _.”

“No?”

He still looked amused, the sod. 

“No,” Rose repeated, opening the cupboard and pulling a couple of butterbeers from it. “Do you have any idea how… well, how _ I _feel?”

The smile was gone in a heartbeat. “How _ do _you feel?” 

“_Uncomfortable_. _ Miserable_. Like everything’s a sodding minefield and I really, really, _ really _ want her to like me —”

His face had dropped slowly at her words and he cleared his throat.“If it’s any consolation, she definitely does.”

“You think?” Rose’s eyes brightened and then she scowled again, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy if you don’t start behaving like the charming prat you usually are I’ll —”

“You’ll?”

Well, this was problematic. It wasn’t like she could just hex him anymore. 

“Look, I get you don’t need her to like you. But I do and Al does. I’m not asking that you like her or that she’ll _ love _ you, I’ll take her just not… _ running away _ when it’s time for her to leave! I don’t want her to even _ hesitate _ to come here! I want her to _ live _here if she wants to!” 

Apparently, she’d beg, that’s what she’d do. Rose took a deep breath and she felt warm tears biting at her eyes. 

“I’ve felt like I’m going to be sick on my shoes since they walked in and you being a wanker isn’t… it’s not _ helping _because I usually relax a little after a while but now…”

Begging _ incoherently_.

She brushed a despairing hand through her hair and opened the cupboard, fishing out one of Al’s bottles of Dragon Breath. “I need to be far drunker for this.” 

“Fine.”

Rose uncorked the bottle and retrieved a glass out of the cupboard, pouring a small measure in it, which she proceeded to swill around in grim anticipation of the taste. “‘Fine’ what?”

“Fine, I’ll be charming.” 

Rose downed the glass she’d just poured and hissed as it burned down her throat, like molten lava warming down her insides. She hiccuped a small plume of green fire and filled another glass, “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious.” He walked over to her and carefully took the glass from her hand. “I’ll play nice.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Rose let out a sarcastic laugh. “I’ll hit you if you don’t.”

“You won’t have to.” He drank the thing, mouth opening in a thoughtful ‘o’ to let the fire slowly trickle out his mouth and poured another, sliding it over to her. “Limit’s three or you’ll end up streaking in the wee hours of dawn on an unfamiliar street without your wand.”

“Personal experience?”

“Al and Yards,” he offered, which really said it all.

“You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?” Rose asked softly, swirling the glass around. “But _ why_? Why are you being such a prat?”

Scorp rolled his eyes. “I don’t like being ambushed into social niceties.”

“The whole world is an ambush of social niceties. I would know, they make me sick.” Rose took a small sip and shuddered as fire streamed out of her nose. “Not in a shitty way like you, in a nervous way,” she finished, grimacing. “Merlin, this is horrible.”

“Better to drink it in one go,” he suggested, taking the glass from her and doing just that. Her fingers burned at his touch and he rested his forearms on the counter, letting out a laugh. “It’s not intentional…” He sniggered and clarified, “I mean, it _ is _mostly intentional.” 

“But _ why_?”

He threw her a half-smile and shrugged and she gave him a cynical look, lips pursed, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I figured once I moved away from my parents’ I wouldn’t have to put up with all the ring-kissing and, for the most part, I _ don’t_. But the more I feel like I’m _ expected _to like someone, the less I do.”

Rose carefully plucked the glass from his hand, filling it once again. "What a Maverick you are."

“That’s number two,” Scorp pointed out. “I’d keep it at that.”

“I don’t know what sort of shenanigans went on at Malfoy Manor,” she said, arm carefully inching to touch his as a sort of ‘this isn’t a personal insult, please don’t take it as one’, “but here it matters. It matters to Al.”

“I know.” He let out a careless chuckle. “I just… I get cross, alright?”

“You get _cross_ ,” Rose repeated incredulously. “You’re not five. How on earth do you _ survive _out there in the world? You can’t possibly be this shitty to people you work with, you’d be —”

“Benched?” Scorp’s eyes were filled with laughter as he filched the glass from her grasp and downed it before she could. “_Ah_.”

Rose’s eyes filled with horror. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know you didn’t.”

Smug, gorgeous, pasty sod.

She scowled. “Three shots. You’re out.”

He shuffled himself together and poured her another one, tutting as he slid the glass over to her. “You’re always behind.”

In more ways than one, it seemed.

She trailed after him as he walked to the living room, smiling as he slowed down to let her catch up. Her heart beat faster as his face relaxed into a grin and he strode into the living room, dispensing butterbeers like a very purposeful Santa.

“You don’t need to rub it in,” Yardley moaned, taking the offered butterbeer, “I may not be Mr Alastair Fawcet _ yet_, but it’s a matter of time before she comes to her senses.”

He punctuated the sentence by carelessly using the edge of the coffee table to pop the butterbeer open and Rose winced instinctively - if Scorp were a cat, his tail would be all poofy by now and he'd be ready to claw Yardley's face off. 

“It’s been sixteen years,” Al enunciated slowly, eyes frantically locking with hers in a silent, ‘oh Merlin, he _ didn’t' _ . “It’s not like she hasn’t _ had _time.”

Her and Al’s gaze went to Scorp, whose entire face was screaming bloody murder. Her wary eyes followed him to the armchair as he fell there, his gaze still attached to the tiny dent Yardley had left on the table, forehead terribly scrunched. 

“She does travel a lot.” Melissa’s tone was even, clearly unaware of the maelstrom brewing around her. “She’s so brave, I don’t think I could just… leave everything like that.”

Alcohol, along with the fear that Scorp might just go ballistic and kick everyone out, made her brave. Instead of getting back to her perch on the couch arm, she carelessly - or so she hoped - glided toward Scorp’s chair and gingerly leaned against its arm instead. 

“Is she still trying to find herself?” Rose asked, her dangling leg having a massive panic attack as she pointedly avoided looking at Scorp. "Diane?"

Al gave her a thankful look, before intervening, “It seems so. I’m not entirely sure how she keeps _ losing _herself in all these places.”

“_Very _careless of her,” Rose chimed back, letting out a nervous laugh. “In fact —”

A hand settled softly at the side of her spastic calve, willing it to settle. The blond owner of that hand was looking away, his mouth pinched into a tight line. 

A tight, _ resigned _line.

“Oh, tosh, she’s not _ finding _herself, she’s figuring out who she wants to be,” Yardley said. “We could all take a page off her book and dabble in some introspection.” He smiled over at Melissa and added, “Not you, you’re fine.”

Rose jumped up to her feet, anxiously adding her voice to the chorus of general support of Melissa’s wonderfulness, from which Scorp was mutinously absent.

He let the back of his head fall against the cushions, eyes closing with a scowl and Rose reclaimed her seat on the couch, getting lost in the conversation again. 

After a while, with the tone of someone who doesn’t _ believe _they’re about to do something, he coughed out a strangled, “Melissa, do your cats play nice with people?” 

She and everyone in the room looked over at Scorp like he'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "Yes…?" 

"They like _ me_," Al said carefully. 

"I said 'people'." Scorp let out an incredulous laugh. "I'm not sure you qualify."

Better than insulting Melissa, she supposed. A look at Al told her he felt very much the same.

As if he hadn't in imminent risk of getting thrown into Azkaban for first-degree murder on account of a _ dented table_, Scorp carelessly expounded, “Rose was just saying she’d love to meet them.”

Just like that.

* * *

“You were _ nice_,” Rose slurred, flopping onto her stomach on the couch to look at Scorp, who was lying on the floor with a hand covering his forehead. “You were nice and you gave me _ kitties_.”

A smile curled his mouth. After a pause that might have lasted ten minutes or ten seconds, he said, “She’s not _ too _bad... I think. S’all a blur.”

“You did good. Al was happy.”

“Were you?” 

Rose reached out to ruffle his hair. “_Yes_.”

He swatted her hand away, groaning a garbled, “_No_, stop, you’ll make my hairline go faster.”

Her hand, the one he kept trying to protect himself from fell on his forehead and she stroked it gently, smoothing the creases on it. “You have the best hair.”

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, his larger hand resting on hers. “_You _have no sense of boundaries.”

Rose let her cheek rest against the edge of the cushion. “I’m sorry.”

But she didn’t take her hand away and neither did he. 

When his fingers grasped hers and he placed a kiss on them, she didn’t protest. And when he braced himself on his forearms, she was the one who covered the distance, hands cupping his cheek and drawing him to her.

“Rose—”

“_Shhh_.”

Wordlessly, instinctively, lost in a wobbly drunken haze where boundaries got _ really _muddled and, honestly, she didn’t care. 

Didn’t _ want _to care.

Didn’t want to care as her fingers fumbled artlessly with buttons that wouldn’t give. Didn’t want to care when his mouth met hers, as her tongue brushed his, as her hands traced under his shirt.

Didn’t want to care when he laughed against her lips and told her to ‘slow down’ because slowing down would mean stopping. 

They were a freight train speeding with faulty brakes - stopping wasn’t an option.

They crashed into each other, untethered, plummeting into fresh sheets that felt far too smooth and smelled of _ him_, no room to breathe or to think as they fell, further and further into each other, into a place where anxiety wasn’t welcome and their bodies did all the talking.

Hands everywhere. Senseless kissing, incoherent moans and whispered truths that they wouldn’t remember come morning.

Losing themselves in that frozen moment in time when nothing else mattered.

* * *

It was like someone was hammering a nail right into his brain, head throbbing as he took his first awake breath, like his heart had become sentient and decided to start yelling instead of beating. Scorp moaned slightly, stretching his arms over the bed only to find it… empty.

Eyes shot open and he sat up, tugging a hand through his hair as he looked around, almost falling back down as his hangover socked him square between the eyes.

She was gone. 

Scorp grabbed a pair of pants and slowly dragged himself out the room, a little corner of his heart praying that his mind would be wrong.

Al, who was supposed to be sleeping over at Melissa’s, was sitting on the couch aimlessly levitating a book. Scorp stared at him with a frown for a few seconds: book up, book down. Book up, book down. 

He cleared his throat and Al turned toward him, draping his arm over the back of the couch and giving him a pitying look that Scorp chose to ignore, “Figured you’d be up soon.” 

There was a mug sitting ominously on the coffee table, a tea bag next to it. 

A few wand flicks later, Al had set the water in it to boil, dunked the bag in it and gotten up to his feet, handing it to him. Scorp wordlessly took it, eyes aimlessly flickering around the living room, looking for the familiar redhead - as if she might just pop out from behind the couch and go ‘Surprise!’.

_ Urgh_.

Al glanced at the grandfather clock. “Six twenty, your internal clock is properly shagged. Oh wait, no, that’s you, isn’t it?” When Scorp’s blank eyes met Al’s, he apparently took pity on him, adding, “Rose told me to tell you she has ‘_an early shift_’. Never figured I’d be giving _ you _the random shag speech.” 

Scorp scowled, taking a seat on the couch, tea spilling all over the striped pyjama pants he’d flung on before leaving the room. “_Fuck_.”

Al’s foot nudged a crumpled, discarded shirt, eyebrow raised. “Still saying there’s nothing going on with you two?” 

Scorp only hissed in return.

_ Relentless_. Fucking relentless. 

He rested his forehead on his hand and inhaled as long as he could - it didn’t exactly help with whatever nightmare it was he’d woken up to, but at least he _ felt _better. Somewhat? 

Wait, no, he still felt rubbish. 

He took a drag from the mug and his nose wrinkled, his voice hoarse as he said, “Horrible.”

Al looked sympathetic and sat next to him on the couch. “Want to talk about it?”

“I meant the tea.”

“Oh.”

“It’s not tea if you can _ chew _it.” Scorp’s nose wrinkled and he shuffled further into the couch, resting the back of his head against a pillow. “And no.”

“No, you don’t want to talk about it?”

“I don't.” In spite of the chewiness of the tea, Scorp took another mouthful, grimacing. “I don’t know what to think, honestly. I thought she’d finally…” Al kept quiet and Scorp closed his eyes. “Did she tell you about it?”

Through the corner of his eye he saw Al shaking his head. 

“Figures.” He drowned a bitter laugh with more terrible tea. A bleak, hopeless tea befitting the bleak, hopeless day. “The gist of it is I’m an idiot and she’s… well, I have no idea _ what _she is.”

Not a coward. That wasn’t the right word for it, he was sure.

The right word, for now, was ‘gone’. And he was the idiot who’d fallen asleep on her and left her to her own insane devices.

“She’s… well, she’s clearly not here.” Scorp took a deep breath, squaring his jaw and shoulders. “So where is she? Is she alright?”

“Yeah,” Al said, shaking his head. “She called me but I’m not sure if she’s alright. She didn’t _ sound _it.”

“Was she panicking?”

“Probably.” 

Scorp’s eyebrows shot upwards. 

Al continued, “I’m not sure, actually, I didn’t actually see her. She was—” He motioned toward her half-empty table and rolled his eyes. “--_ well_.”

He didn’t even merit a panic? Hiding in the loo?

“The random shag speech,” Scorp repeated, shaking his head. “Merlin. I figured we’d be okay. I genuinely thought she’d sorted it out.”

Worst part was, even if she hadn't, he hadn't cared. 

Al nodded. “Well, my cousin _ is _an idiot.”

“She’s not, actually,” Scorp said, letting out a laugh at the obvious defensiveness that had risen in his chest. “Or maybe she is. I think we’re both idiots, which honestly should bode well but…”

“It doesn’t. Go to her maybe?” 

Al was a big fan of grand gestures - Scorp found them ridiculous.

“Running through St Mungo’s screaming her name isn’t going to change her mind. Neither is serenading her while she’s studying.”

“I agree, mostly because I’ve heard you sing.”

A smile grew on Scorp’s face at the familiar humour, like a lifesaver, keeping him from sinking into the dramatic overtones he was feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Quaffle’s in her hands,” Scorp said, shrugging. “Always has been. No amount of grovelling will change that.”

“I can hex her for you, if you’d like.” Al shrugged. “A mild one.”

Scorp’s eyes softened. “Are you mad at her?”

“Some. Not enough to actually hex her because she’s a mess and she can’t help herself, but enough that I _ really _ want to. I _ do _however worry that you don’t seem to be angry at all.”

“I’m not.” Scorp rummaged through the recesses of his sore heart. “Not yet, actually. I’m mostly...”

Concerned, chiefly. Concerned because he couldn’t imagine what was going through her mind. Concerned because he couldn’t actually talk to her. 

Hurt because he _ needed _to.

“Now what?”

“Nothing. You do nothing,” Al said, giving his shoulder a pat. “This one’s on her.”

Well, that was shit. At least if it were his fault, he could apologise. 

In this case, there was absolutely nothing he could do. Nothing but wait and hope she’d somehow come to her senses before he came to his.

“Are you alright with this?” Scorp asked carefully. “I figured you’d be giving me the overprotective cousin chat by now.”

Al shook his head. “You’re good. If anything I feel like I should have a little chat with Rosie about you.”

“Telling her if she breaks my heart you’ll break her legs?” He snorted. “Too late.”

If he closed his eyes he could still feel her, still taste her. Just a faint echo, behind a translucent curtain, murky like a dream. He couldn’t even cling to it properly, the memory far too fuzzy, the outlines of it already eaten away. 

He could _ feel _it, though.

“If it’s any consolation I was rooting for you,” Al said, leaning back against the couch. “It’d be brilliant. Plus it’d drive your grandmother insane. You’d put the whole pureblood nonsense to bed - literally, ha. You’d have cute kids and call them regular people names, like… ‘Sarah’. Or ‘Robert’. Little Bobby Malfoy, can you imagine?” Scorp’s eyebrows shot upwards and Al let out a laugh.“Too soon?”

“Far too soon.”

He wasn’t entirely sure it would ever _ not _be too soon.

* * *

She’d run like she’d never run before, tripping into her bedroom to get herself some clothes, working on the basest instinct of flight, of blood-curdling fear. She’d haphazardly dumped half the contents on her desk into a bag, not entirely sure what she was doing, quills snapping under the weight of books, papers flying everywhere.

She’d walked out of the Floo and into her parents’ place barefooted, shoes and socks forgotten for the sake of efficiency, and stumbled into her dad’s arms.

For one whole minute, she’d felt safe, like there was something primal inside her that recognised him.

Safe. 

Warm.

Like nothing could harm her. 

Then her brain had kicked in. Not the reasonable part, the overthinking part. The part that brought along with it a familiar sense of dread, the pit in her stomach.

That was when she’d slipped out of her dad’s grasp and thrown up all over the carpet under her mum and dad’s concerned gazes. 

And that’s when the crying had started. 

At that point, she’d felt like it would never end.

Fortunately, it had.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” her dad asked for the millionth time, hand resting on the doorframe to Hugo’s room. 

In his defence, he had cause for concern. Calling her parents in the middle of the night asking them for sanctuary, hurling all over the Persian carpet in the living room and then sobbing for a full hour wasn’t exactly the norm.

“She said she’s fine,” her mum said, gently resting her hand on Rose’s forehead. “Do you need anything?”

Rose wordlessly shook her head and her parents exchanged a helpless look from across the room.

“Alright.” Her mum was apparently driving this situation while her dad climbed up and down the walls with worry. “Alright,” she repeated more certainly, brushing a cold hand over Rose’s hairline, fingers gently massaging all the places that were killing her head. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Ominous.

Her dad hovered under the door as her mum walked past and added a final, “Good night, Rosie.”

_ Rosie_. 

Like she was five again. She felt like a ‘Rosie’, small and scared. 

Except she wasn’t. She wasn’t small and she shouldn’t feel scared and yet she did, more and more each day. More and more with every day that passed and the internship loomed closer, as a sense of chilling dismay festered inside her.

Anxiety with a capital A. 

She could hear her parents whispering and she didn’t actually need to hear them to know what they were saying. From the pacing of it, her dad was planning on Flooing to her flat and giving Albus and Scorp a piece of his mind and her mum was reminding him that they didn’t know the full story.

They didn’t know any of it. 

Rose pulled Hugo’s comforter over her head and buried herself deeper into his bed until her feet were wedged between the edge of the mattress and the sheets. Something uncomfortable was pressing against the sole of her foot in the shape of Hugo’s metal bed frame, bars far too close for her feet to find any sort of nook where they fit.

Like a prison.

It was all wrong. The sounds were wrong, the smell was wrong. The sheets were freshly laundered but missing the familiar lavender scent that was all —

No.

No, no, no, _ no_.

Rose hugged Hugo’s pillow to her chest and pressed her cheek to it, eyes squeezed shut - as if that might actually help.

She kept seeing his face. She could feel him everywhere like a brand. Every time she —

_ No_, she told herself firmly. _ Just… no_.

It didn’t help.

* * *

Sounds that once had been familiar now felt… melancholy. They strummed at her heartstrings, foreign and nostalgic at the same time. 

That one floorboard that creaked in a specific way. Her dad humming to himself in the shower - _ Weasley Is Our King_, always a classic - ready to kick the house into gear and letting her mum sleep until the very last minute, shuffling around the kitchen to make breakfast.

The kettle whistle almost made her cry.

Rose closed her eyes and buried herself deeper, curling herself into a ball at the very foot of Hugo’s bed. 

The familiar pit of despair in her stomach was particularly present today. Throbbing really. It wasn’t the usual nagging, more like a persistent… ache, like there was a knife being twisted into her innards. 

She could’ve discarded it as a hangover, an upset stomach, hunger or sleeplessness... but that wasn’t it. The idea of leaving this comfortable nook and facing the world filled her with dread and Rose pulled the covers over her head and dug her face into the pillow.

Not thinking was easy. 

Not existing.

It was too hard. 

Everything was too hard. 

Fragmented thoughts tried to worm their way in: St Mungo’s, Greenland, what she’d tell her parents, what she’d tell Al, what she’d tell Scorp.

She dodged them, one by one, swatting them away from her mind and resigning herself to this… vacuum, this nothingness that kept everything at bay.

She just needed to stay there and she’d be fine.

A rap at the door sounded and Rose moaned. “Five more minutes!” 

“Mum’s up, we’re just waiting for you.”

“_Hugo_?!”

The door opened and Rose peeked from under the blankets to see a familiar shot of red hair popping in. “I see you’ve commandeered my room.”

A familiar crooked smile tugged at his mouth, jolting her back to life… and back to reality.

* * *

Breakfast was a stilted thing, partly because it had been years since she’d actually had breakfast with her family, partly because apparently Dad had summoned _ Hugo _all the way from Romania. He was now sitting on the chair next to hers and watching her with a supremely amused look on his face.

“I hear you painted the town _ green _last night,” he said, taking a bite off some crispy bacon. “Dad gave me a very vivid description. Colour, taste, smell...”

Rose was far too tired to give him the withering glare he deserved. Instead, she settled for a half-hearted huff and stifling out a yawn.

Clearly not as threatening, but it got her dad’s instincts to kick in. “Lay off her, she’s had a rough night. Did you sleep at all?”

“Nope.” 

She covered her mouth to yawn again, eyes brimming with sleep tears which she blinked away with a grimace. 

“Have you ever tried yoga?”

That was Hugo again - baiting her, the _ wanker_. 

Baiting really should be banned before eight am. 

Hell, any conversation at all should be banned before eight am.

This time, Rose hissed back, “Have you ever tried shutting up?”

“Didn’t take,” he said, foot gently nudging hers under the table. 

“Bugger off.”

A crooked smile grew on her brother’s face, eyebrows shifting slightly upwards with a familiar ‘you okay?’ look and Rose nodded in return.

“Are you two going to force me to sit you at opposite ends of the table?” Her dad’s tone was stern and tinted with just a very respectable hint of laughter. “I’m not beneath calling your Nan.”

Her mum, who’d been reading the paper with a crease between her eyebrows, glasses perched low on her nose, finally looked up, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “What are you going to do, have her come over and scold them?”

Had her hair… _ greyed _in the last few months? There was an entire tuft of grey popping in the middle of her mum’s dark hair, one that she didn't recognise.

How long had it been since she'd come around for dinner?

Her dad’s eyes flickered to the clock on the wall and back to her mum. “You’re late.” 

She shuffled under her husband’s intent gaze, folding the paper and handing it over to him with a heavy sigh before her eyes settled on Rose. 

“We’ll talk tonight.” Her forehead might have permanent wrinkles and her hair might be turning grey, but those brown eyes were as sharp and warm as ever. 

“I can’t tonight, I have—”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” She got up to her feet, making the kissing rounds for goodbyes, first her dad, then Hugo and finally her. “Have a good day, dear.” 

Instead of just a kiss, she leaned over and gave her a tight hug that spoke volumes. Rose was almost certain her mum had sniffed her hair, which was fine because she’d done the exact same thing.

It was soothing somehow. Familiar shampoo, the same she’d always worn. Familiar perfume, the same her dad always got religiously for her mum’s birthday, that one present that none of them fretted about because she always wanted it and she always needed it.

“Dinner at eight,” her mum repeated, letting go of her and giving her head one last brush before she took the keys and the folders her dad was handing her. She stopped at the door, taking a final deep breath and looking around the kitchen, a smile crinkling her eyes. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

A long while.

Her parents walked together out of the kitchen and Hugo leaned over, pinching a piece of bacon from her plate in spite of his plate still being full. “So,” he started, a crooked grin growing on his face, “while they’re off being revolting… what the hell?”

Rose let out a snort, smacking Hugo’s intruding hand away. Not that she intended to actually eat any of it, more out of sheer habit.

Hugo sniggered. “We have maybe five, ten minutes before Dad comes back and I have a Portkey scheduled.”

“How did you even _ get _a Portkey on such short notice?”

Hugo snorted. “Called Yards.” He stopped and pulled at her hair, what chaotic child. “Is this _ really _how you want to spend our ever trickling time together?”

“See, I always wanted a sister,” she grumbled, swatting his hand away. “Instead I got _ you_.”

“Says the girl who barfed all over the carpet,” he tutted. “Dad filled me in before you got down. Obliterated me at chess too, it was a very productive five minutes.” He shook his head. “Remind me not to play dad before having coffee ever again. So _ did _you barf all over the carpet?”

She nodded sheepishly.

“You were supposed to be the good kid,” Hugo groaned, hand tousling his red hair. “Does this mean now I’ll need to be an anxious nutcase to make up for it?”

Rose let out a deep breath, burying her forehead on her hands. “Oh, _ sod off_.”

_ Exhausted_. Too tired to deal with —

“That good, ey?” The cup of coffee touching her elbow poked her and Hugo added in a sing-song, half babyish voice, “_ Drink me_,” which had the effect of putting a smile on her face. “Come on, love, drink the damned thing. You look terrible - it takes away any joy I have in mocking you.”

Rose snorted, taking another deep breath before squaring her shoulders and taking the mug from his hands. She took the most minuscule sip before she set it back down. “Happy?”

“Not really, no.” He nicked another piece of dejected bacon from her plate and stuffed it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Never figured I’d get a panicked message from dad at five am asking me if I knew what was happening with you.”

“Always a first.”

“What the hell _ happened_?”

Rose scratched her eyebrow and shrugged. “Too much to drink. Dragon Breath.”

Hugo nodded understandingly, grimacing. “You had more than three, didn’t you?”

She had, except instead of streaking on an unknown street without her wand, she’d ended in bed with Scorpius Malfoy.

“Yeah,” she said, scowling in a way that made her head hurt all over again. “Not my finest moment.”

Hugo pushed the coffee toward her again, looking sceptical. “Doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“Why _ are _you here?”

Rose groaned and buried her face back on her hands.

“_That’s _ what you’re going with? ‘_Urghhhh_’?” He let out a chaotic little laugh. “I wasn’t planning on staying for dinner, but now I’m considering it. If that’s all you’re telling me, then what are you telling Dad when he goes Auror Inquisition on your sorry arse?”

Rose swallowed. “I have no idea.”

“You wouldn’t.” Hugo took a deep breath and scowled. “Fine, alright, I’ll give you a leg up. You failed a test, you got a little drunk —”

“I didn’t fail a test!” 

The horrified tone in her voice didn’t appear to detract Hugo from his theory.

“— Al wasn’t home, neither was Malfoy and you were feeling down so you came here. There. _ What_?” He rolled his eyes. “If you’d rather gape and go ‘_uhhhhhhhh_’, be my guest. But they’re worried and —” 

Steps rang closer and Hugo raised his voice and seamlessly shifted onto another conversation.

“— and then Mason got his entire _ hand _ stuck inside the ruddy thing’s mouth. The younger ones are like puppies, they like to play, but _ you _try playing with something that weighs as much as a car.”

Dragon themed, _ nice_.

His dad threw him a sceptical look and brushed past them, filching a piece of bacon from Rose’s plate on the way. At the incredulous look she gave him, he shrugged. “You’re not going to eat it anyway, might as well.”

She rolled her eyes and held her plate out. The sound of metal cutlery battling sounded for a few seconds as her dad and her sibling fought for the ownership of the last piece and she waited patiently. 

In the end, her dad won.

* * *

“You still haven’t told me what happened,” Hugo said, hands in his robe pockets as he followed her into the living room after their dad was gone. 

“Don’t you have a Portkey to catch?”

“Ah, yes, see, unlike you, I care about my family more than I do about my job.”

Silence fell between them as Hugo flopped onto a nearby armchair at about the same time her heart flopped out the window.

"That's… not true."

"Isn't it?" 

"_You _buggered off halfway across Europe."

"And yet I'm here, aren't I?" Hugo's leg swayed back and forth and he gave her a once over. "Haven’t seen you in what, two months? You missed Vic’s birthday."

Rose's breath caught in her throat.

"I had —"

"Midterms, I know. But you could've Flooed over for a quick 'hi'."

Rose gave him an outraged look. "It's _ never _a quick 'hi'. The quick 'hi' always turns into a ten-hour bash.”

“It only turns into a ten-hour bash if you let it - and you always do. What’s craziest about it is you don’t even have fun, you just sulk instead of enjoying it.” Hugo snorted. “There’s a middle ground between a ten-hour bash and not showing up at all, y’know.”

“What is this, Shit On Rose Day? Should we make it a holiday, invite everyone over?”

Hugo rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying we worry. Dad frets and feels all hurt and angry that his favourite child—”

“Dad doesn’t have favourites,” Rose pointed out.

Except of course he was right and they both knew it.

Hugo scoffed. “Mum likes _ me _better anyway, so we’re square. She worries too but more... quiet-like. At the end of the day, none of us knows what’s up with you.”

“Fresh coming from someone with a double life in Romania.”

“At least I have one.” He cocked his head at her. “I don’t get it. You used to make time for us, even when you were at your worst. Back at Hogwarts, it didn’t matter how deep you were, you always had the time for a chat if I needed one.”

Like a punch to the gut. 

“Ever since you moved it’s like… it’s like we don’t exist. And I’m mostly fine with that because, like you said, I’m away. But not mum and dad. And not Nan and Grampa. Molly called me the other day asking if you were seeing someone —” Rose shook her head with confusion and he clarified, “Wedding seating. But anyway, she called and I had _ no idea_.”

“Why didn’t she call _ me_?”

Hugo scoffed. “She did, actually. So did I. Ended up calling Al instead. Which reminds me: you’re a bloody wanker and I’m pissed at you.”

Rose racked her brains for any missed calls and dredged out a faint memory of ignoring them. 

_ Shit_.

“I’m _ so _sorry,” she enunciated slowly. “I meant to call you back but —”

Hugo scoffed. “There’s only so many bloody times you can apologise before it stops mattering.”

“I meant to call back, I promise!”

“Hell’s full of good intentions and shitty excuses.”

Rose’s eyes stung with tears. “Hugo —”

“At least own up to it. Say ‘I don’t care, you lot rate dog shit next to St Mungo’s’. That, at least I could respect.”

“But it’s not _ true_!”

“Then you need to fucking sort yourself,” Hugo cried out with a scowl, his face red with anger as he got up to his feet. “I love being in Romania and if I skip a birthday, I’m owning it, not dispensing apologies. I missed Dom’s because I couldn’t be shagged and she was fine with it.”

Rose’s breath got caught in her throat, the knife twisting further into her gut. 

“You’re all caught up in your shifts and your studying and now you’re fucking off to Greenland and I figure great, now you have the perfect excuse, don’t you? Might as well write ‘thank you, have a nice life’ cards to everyone in the family. Oh, wait, no, it’s ‘_I’m sorry_, have a nice life’, isn’t it?”

He stalked over to the fireplace and huffed. “I’m going for that Portkey after all. Give me a call sometime in the next ten years, will you?”

A green flame engulfed him and he was gone. 

Rose’s tears finally spilled. She curled into the corner of the couch, face buried on her knees. 

Footsteps rang from the fireplace again and she lifted her head to meet Hugo’s scowl as he stalked out of it. He was still scowling as he crouched down next to her on the couch, but the angry flush on his cheeks had subsided. 

Rose wiped her tears with her sleeve and glared right back at him. “Don’t you have a Portkey to catch?” 

“For the record, I’m _ not _ sorry,” he said defiantly. “You _ are _ a dick and, just so you know, you made Mummy Dearest cry yesterday - she blames herself and I blame _ you _ for that. And dad —” here he let out a bitter laugh “—dad’s spent the last few months pestering me about you. Not a single question about how _ I’m _ doing, no, of course not. It’s all about _ you _.”

He let himself fall on the couch next to him and hugged his own knees closer.

“What’s worse is we all keep repeating the same bullshit. ‘_Poor Rose, you gotta give her a break, she’s doing her best_’,” he mimicked, scoffing. “I feel like we’re just _ enabling _ you. You’re _ not _ a poor thing and it’s like you’re not even _ happy_...?”

“Hugo…”

“If it’s making you so miserable why don’t you do something else? If you’re not happy then say fuck it, quit St Mungo’s!”

“You don’t get it!” Rose cried, biting down on her lip until she was sure it would draw blood. “I don’t _ hate _it,” she added quietly, eyebrows furrowed. “I really, really don’t. I hate not having time to study properly. I hate feeling like I’m rubbish at it. I hate…”

“There’s a whole lot you hate. You could do something _ easier_. Something that’s better suited to you, something that doesn’t kill you inside.” Hugo scoffed. “It’s mental that you feel like you need to stick with this.”

“I don’t. I do it because I _ want _to.”

Wow. Just like that.

“Not because quitting would be admitting you were wrong?”

Greenland? Yes. 

St Mungo’s? 

“No. I like…” Rose picked up a pillow and held it to her chest. “I like St Mungo’s. I know you hate hospitals and the smell makes you queasy, but I like it. It feels… like it’s home, you know?”

Hugo nodded, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s what the fresh smell of dragon dung smells like to me. So you _ do _like it.”

“I do.”

“Enough to eat shit every day for the rest of your life?”

Rose nodded. “I feel like I have a purpose, you know? Like I’m...”

“Saving people?” 

Hugo’s tone was ironic and Rose shook her head indignantly. “No. Yes, but that’s… not...”

Her brain was sorting itself through this like it had spent the last years trying to find the corner pieces of the puzzle, lumping the blue pieces in a pile to try and make out the big picture. 

A long, shitty puzzle, with edges that made no sense, with far too many pieces that were just... _ blue_. Far too many days where she _ felt _blue.

She’d gone into it starry-eyed, thinking it would be all healing when in reality it was healing plus a load of bollocks shoved daily down her throat. 

She’d figured when a patient died she would always feel appropriately sad, but sometimes she’d find herself crying in a supply closet and others it would feel like… nothing and she’d worry that she was finally turning into a sociopath, too worn out to care.

Some days, she felt like she was completely losing her grip on reality, like the world was pushing her down on her knees.

And yet sometimes, out of the blue, it _ was _worth it. 

Sometimes, you’d find a patient with an ever-growing stain and a smile on their faces and hope would be restored. Sometimes you’d see a kid with their mum out with nothing but a vial of pink, Fizzing Whizzbees flavoured potion. Sometimes you’d find a mistake on a chart and feel like everything made sense all over again.

Like she was exactly at the right place at the right time. 

Like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

Like the universe wasn’t just a fair-weathered friend and it had somehow conspired to get her there, to this. 

“No, not just _ saving _people,” Rose huffed, because that wasn’t it. It was also it, but it was... “What do you feel when you’re getting your arse handed to you by an arsehole of a dragon?”

“Like there’s nowhere else on earth I’d rather be,” Hugo said ruefully, a crooked smile on his face. 

“It’s like that,” she said. “Like I _ belong_.”

He nodded. “Like it’s worth all the chomped off hands.”

It was an odd thing to suss out, after all these years. 

It was also a shit thing to admit to herself now, considering… well. The timing and the fact that she couldn’t actually get _ out _of going to Greenland. What was she going to do, walk up to Choi after all this time and tell him ‘You know what? I’ve had a think and I’d rather stay here and clean up spew’?

Ha. 

Ha. 

_ No_.

Rose let out a laugh and took in another deep breath of reality that shook her to the core.

There was however, something she _ could _do. Something that was startlingly clear to her. Another puzzle entirely, one that wasn’t blue at all.

“I’m a wanker,” she said, getting up to her feet and looking around, dragging a hand through her hair at the same time as the knife in her stomach was pulled out and stabbed right back in. “_Shit_.” 

She needed… she needed to fix this. 

Bugger it, bugger it all sideways.

She’d left him there without a word. 

She’d sent _ Al _there. 

_ Fuck_.

Hugo was giving her an amused look from the couch, arms stretched over his head. “Well, you _ are _ a wanker, but _ do _tell me why specifically. Preferably in writing.”

Rose stared back at him for a few seconds and blinked. “I have something I need to do.”

She paced aimlessly, shuffling in her pockets for her Magitech. 

It wasn’t there. 

She vaguely remembered shoving it in her jeans pockets after calling Al, and setting it to _ Silencio _so she wouldn’t have to actually face it at all. She wasn’t sure if she’d actually brought it along or not.

“More important than me?” 

She stared him dead in the eyes and nodded. “Yes.”

“And you’re not apologising?” He let out a mock gasp, covering his hand. “There’s the spirit. If you tell me to bugger off outright, I might shed a tear.” 

When had she stopped telling her family to bugger off outright? When had she dug herself a pit of guilt toward the people she should trust more in the world?

When had she gone from unapologetic to… _ this_? From rueful Friday dinners that she always ended up enjoying in spite of heated complaints, to not putting in the smallest effort, permanently trapped in this snowball of contrition?

When had she lost her grip on everything that mattered?

“I’ll see you at dinner,” she said, picking up a handful of Floo and stepping into the fireplace. She hesitated and took a step back wrapping her arm around Hugo’s neck for a quick hug. “Story is I failed a test, yeah?”

“Shall we say it was a Troll?” He let out a laugh. “If you’re going to fail, might as well fail spectacularly.”

Rose nodded. “T it is.”

The very concept of failing filled her with dread all over again. Actually trying and failing was far worse than not trying it all. Generally speaking, Rose was far too busy reacting to the world around her to feel like she was trying - trying, most of the time, was just surviving. Simple as breathing some days, hard as clawing your way to air on others.

This, however, wasn’t just surviving.

This was _ wanting _and wanting was difficult. The more she wanted something the more she felt scared and this was downright terrifying.

If she was going to fail… might as well fail spectacularly.

Of course the knot in her stomach disagreed quite categorically and, while her heart was thumping to the tune of hope, her brain was basically screaming at her not to do it, pointing out the million ways it could, nay, _ would _go wrong.

Fortunately, she was far too busy moving to listen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we get to our All Is Lost - nowhere to go but up. Please direct all your incoherent screeching toward the review section (she said, with no sadistic glee at all). I figured this smut was mild enough not to merit a specific warning that might... spoil the agony.
> 
> A million thanks to cjpendragon and SpaceJesus63 for beta-ing this chapter! 😊
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, namely FallenStar22, justanawesomeowl, EnolaScamander, LordLockhart1770, Afbeez, msquared, Lily, beelabambres, Anna_Elephant, Arwin_Fred and odd_aben - y'all are gorgeous and I love your faces.
> 
> As ever, stay safe out there and have a lovely weekend! Love, Maria 💙


	29. Full Circle Moping

_ Silence_.

In her stress and amidst all the ways it could, _ nay _, would go wrong, Rose hadn’t actually thought about the likeliest: he wasn’t there.

No Scorp anywhere in sight.

She felt the knot in her stomach slowly unravelling, the tension melting away in a single exhale.

_ Thank Merlin_.

Rose scooched her still pounding heart over to her bedroom and extracted her scrubs out of the closet. By the time she got dressed and ready to face the world, she was almost feeling positive about life. 

She’d do it later, yeah, that was a solid plan. She’d have dinner at her parents and she’d --

Rose stumbled face to face with Al, who was carrying a slice of cake into the living room. His mouth fell agape, displaying a chunky chewed up bite of the confection. 

_ Thump, thump, thump_, went her heart with wild abandonment, beating itself into a frenzy of relief and fear. 

Relief that it wasn’t Scorp and fear of… _ repercussion_.

They both stopped in their tracks, frozen and speechless until Rose blurted, “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Al recovered a few seconds after she did and, thankfully, bothered to swallow. “Pulled a sickie,” he said, letting out an affected cough before giving her a cynical once over. “You?”

“Forgot my robes.”

“Thought you might’ve forgotten something else.”

The knot in her stomach coiled tighter.

_ How is he? _

_ Is he mad? _

_ Is he hurt? _

“I’m --”

Rose stopped herself - Hugo was right, ‘sorry’ wouldn’t cut it. ‘Sorry’ in this situation meant sod all.

Even if she was.

Her eyes flickered helplessly to the clock and then back to Al’s sceptical face. “I need to leave,” she said, wincing. “I’m really late for work so maybe… we could talk after? Wait, no, I have dinner at my parents and --”

“Feels like 2027 all over again.” Al rolled his eyes and he whipped around toward the living room. “I’ll walk you out.”

“No, I mean it, I --”

“Rose…” Al threw her a glance over his shoulder before shrugging and resuming his path to the living room. “_Nope_. None of my business.”

Rose trailed after - half skipping on account of he was so _ damned fast _ \- and asked a very pointed “What?” and a very desperate “_Why_?”.

“You know _ what_,” Al said, shaking his head. “You fucked up and you’re going to make it right.”

Rose swallowed hard. “I am.”

He let himself fall on the couch and took a bite off the cake, continuing through a mouthful of chocolate, “He was stress baking all morning - there are about five cakes with your name on them sitting in the kitchen.”

“_Literally_?” 

Horrifying visions of icing decorations floated through her mind.

“Figuratively, thank Merlin,” Al said, finally swallowing the cake he’d been flaunting. “Well, not _ entirely_. There _ is _ cake. A _ lot _ of bloody cake.”

He paused and sighed, like it physically pained him to be doing it. Rose sympathised: death felt like a very appealing option right at that moment.

“I feel like you’re missing something here, something important,” he continued. “Scorp will take a beating for the people he loves. In fact, you could step all over him and he’d forgive you, over and over and _ over _ and over --”

“He would not,” Rose huffed. “He --”

“Ah, but he would,” Al said, stuffing his mouth full of more chocolatey goodness. “You see, I could send him packing to St Mungo’s and he’d somehow rationalise it and forgive me. _ I_, however, won’t.” He swallowed and looked her dead in the eye. “You’re my cousin and I love you, but if you keep stomping all over him, so help me Merlin, Morgana and the buggering whole lot, I will _ never _ talk to you again.”

Like a bloody vice grip on her stomach.

“Al --”

“No, not _ Al _.” There was a cold sort of anger behind his blithe chewing that sent a shiver up her spine. He wiped the crumbs off his chest with a dispassionate flick and got up to his feet. “No more of this wishy-washy bullshit.”

Rose could feel the start of a very ugly cry prickling hot at her eyes.

What do you know, it really _ was _ Shit All Over Rose Day.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not knowing what else to say. “I _ really _ am. I panicked and I didn’t know what to do and… and he was just there and…”

“I know.” Al’s eyes softened and he set down the plate before wrapping his arms around her. “I know and I get it. I’m not saying you need to go and marry the guy --” Rose hissed and Al let out a laugh before slowly letting her go. “-- just… make up your bloody mind.”

“Easier said than done.”

“No, actually,” Al said smugly. “It’s not.”

“Oh shove _ off_,” Rose cried indignantly, wiping a rogue tear against the back of her sleeve. “You spent a year and a half moping, don’t suddenly pretend you’re the bloody Sybil Trelawney of relationships.”

He sniggered. “Well, I _ am _ happy and it _ wasn’t _ that hard. Mostly accidental, really.”

“How do you mean?”

Al let himself fall on the couch and draped his arms over the back, offering her a lopsided grin. “The initial plan was to rub Melissa all over Lily’s face so she’d go prattle on to Zara about it.” He let out a rueful laugh. “The whole thing sort of backfired.”

Rose blinked. “You really _ are _ a wanker. A lucky one at that.”

“I’m in good company then.”

They stared at each other for a second and Rose could feel the fist in her stomach slowly unclenching. Not entirely, not too much, just back to the familiar pressure that reminded her she was alive.

“I have work,” Rose said finally, casting a miserable glance at the clock. “I have dinner later and…”

“He’ll be home,” Al reassured. “Whereas I’ll be staying at Melissa’s until you two sort it out.”

“Melissa’s the new Yardley’s?”

“Merlin, no.” Al let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Then where would I hide from her?”

Rose shook her head with disapproval before asking, “Are you hiding from us?”

“Because Mummy and Daddy are fighting?” Al snorted. “Not this time, no. I mostly just want Mummy and Daddy to stop being daft and admit they _ love _ each other.” He interlaced his fingers at the back of his neck and scowled at her. “You _ do _ like him?”

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “That was never the problem.”

“Is it Greenland?” 

Rose simply nodded again. What else was there to say? Nothing had changed, really. 

_ Fuck_. 

Nothing had changed. 

Al rolled his eyes. “You’re overthinking this.”

“_Oh am I _ ?” Rose asked incredulously. “How in the world am I overthinking it? I’m _ leaving_! For a bloody _ year_!” 

He blinked. “_And_?”

“_And_!” Rose huffed and threw a final glance at the clock, moving toward the fireplace and grabbing a fistful of Floo, which she waved around for emphasis. “_And_! It’s _ ludicrous _ to think...”

Al’s eyebrow shot upwards and he gave her the most _ infuriating _ smile. “To think what?”

“To think…” Rose’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “To think that…”

"That?"

That he actually liked her that much. That he’d keep on liking her.

Thurkell had dumped her sorry arse because she’d forgotten he even _ existed _ \- and that had been back when she’d been at Hogwarts, not in her current anxiety-riddled, buggering mess of a life. Not to mention they'd been living in the same castle, not bloody Greenland. She wasn't fit to be in a relationship, not even an easy one - this one promised to be the N.E.W.T. level of miserably hard relationships.

“Well, give it a think.” Al rolled his eyes. “Better yet, stop thinking entirely. Or better still --”

She didn’t know what was better still because she flung herself into the Floo, heart in her hands and stomach in her throat.

* * *

Scorp sat on the very edge of the Transportation Centre rooftop and took the day in: blue skies, excellent breeze, not a solitary cumulus to commiserate with his woe. 

Cloudy skies would have been more appropriate. Rain, a thunder clap or two.

Instead, they were suffering unusually fair weather, like the universe had sensed his heartache and thrown a beautiful day in his general direction - one that he couldn't even properly enjoy - just to spite him. 

A weather-y 'ha ha, fuck you' of sorts.

Down on the ground, flight students skittered around like ants, busy with their classes and their meaningless drills. 

From up high everything always looked so… _ small_, irrelevant really.

If he just closed his eyes and took a deep breath, maybe everything else would.

“You know, jumping really isn’t the answer,” a voice said, interrupting his admittedly over-dramatic mental soliloquy. “But if you’d like a push I’d be happy to help.”

Scorp glanced over his shoulder at Yardley who was crossing the distance to the edge of the building looking as languid and amused as ever. 

Scorp felt exhausted just looking at him.

“I’m on a break,” he offered testily. "Go away."

“Now, now, no need to get defensive.” Yards stopped at the very edge and peered down, a smile on his face. “I _ support _ you. If you _ really _ want to be a Malfoy shaped, bloody red puddle on the ground --”

“Bugger off, Yards.” 

Scorp rolled his eyes and leaned back until he was resting on his forearms, looking up at the _ unfairly _good weather and Yardley’s obnoxious smiling face.

“Al told me you were miserable,” Yards said, taking a seat next to him. “So _ obviously_, I had to come see for myself.”

Scorp let himself fall on his back, mouth pressed into a thin line. “It’s none of your business.”

“As much amusement as this whole Woe Is Me affair affords me --” and here Yards waved a hand in Scorp’s general direction “-- I just came to check up on you.” 

“You’ve checked. Still breathing, still alive.” 

“Curbing those suicidal impulses, that’s a good lad.”

Scorp rolled his eyes and gave Yardley’s leg a half-hearted shove. “_Go away_.”

_ Exhausting_.

“In a minute.” Yards took a deep breath and looked around. “Wow, this _ is _ nice and quiet.”

“It _ was_,” Scorp said tartly.

“Oh, hush. I’m looking at an afternoon in the Wonderful World of Adolescent Splinching, I deserve a break.” After a seconds pause, he added a merry, “Hopefully one of them will splice something important and I’ll get to go to St. Mungo’s, check up on your better half. I'm nothing if not efficient.”

“_Good for you_.” He was proud of how calm he sounded, as if the mere mention of Rose didn’t send his abused heart into overdrive. “Go right ahead.”

“I meant check up on her for _ you_.”

Scorp’s eyes met Yardley’s earnest gaze and he swallowed, the urge to take his offer and tell him to go right ahead too tempting.

Just to make sure she was alright. 

Just to make sure… he didn’t even know anymore. Thinking about it - _ her _ \- would do him no favours so he wasn’t going to. 

Or at the very least he was going to try very hard not to.

“No need.” 

They lived together, she’d have no other choice than to come back at some point - this was probably why people didn’t sleep with their flatmates, so they wouldn’t have to face them come morning. 

She’d come back.

Unless she didn’t. Unless she stayed at her parents’. Unless --

Scorp shook himself and got up to his feet, hands dusting the roof dust off his arse and legs with a few decisive slaps.

_ No_, he told himself. 

There would be none of this overthinking nonsense: _qué será será_, whatever the hell would be would be. The new plan he'd come up after waking up alone had been to get through this miserable day and talk to her, finally sort it all out and get on with his life.

“You sure?” Yards asked, giving him a dubious look. 

Of _ course _ he wasn’t sure.

“Yeah,” Scorp lied. “Go stick your disproportionate nose someplace else.”

"No need to be hurtful. You know, I can pop by, see how she's doing, report back. Maybe even --"

"What part of ‘mind your own beeswax’ are you missing here?” Scorp asked incredulously. “Is it the ‘mind’, ‘your own’ or ‘beeswax’...?”

“_Au contraire, mon ami_.” Yardley’s tone was rife with all the pretension of the language he’d just used. The boy’s arm wrapped around Scorp’s shoulder and drew him toward the roof’s exit as he continued, “It is my business. You see, I’ve put far too much time and energy into you to not get involved.”

“If that’s your way of saying you _ care_,” Scorp said superciliously, “then please do us both a favour and _ abstain _ from it.” 

“Tragic, I know, but that’s the sad reality we live in.” The arm around his shoulders gave him yet another squeeze and Scorp rolled his eyes. “Now, now, it’s not ideal, but I _ do _ care and it _ is _ all of my beeswax. So why don’t you tell Uncle Yards what’s troubling you and --”

"Did you just," Scorp wrestled away from under Yardley’s arm and gave him a horrified look, "refer to yourself... as _ Uncle Yards_?!"

“You don’t need to pour your heart out to me,” Yardley clarified with a laugh, “we can just go for a drink. You can mope over a butterbeer rather than here, alone like a ridiculous git.” 

It _ was _ starting to feel a bit ridiculous. If Scorp bothered looking down at himself, he’d feel the cringe.

Fortunately, most of his day up until now had consisted of a lot of not feeling anything.

“What happened to ‘don’t drink and apparate’?” he asked as a sort of last resort. “Or ‘don’t drink and fly’?”

“Those are more guidelines,” Yardley said waving his hand dismissively. “This is clearly an emergency. I swear, all you need is rain streaming down your face to become a cliché - I simply _ have _ to save you from yourself.”

Considering how much he'd been yearning for a little rain, maybe Yardley had a point.

What had the world come to?

* * *

Rose spent the day feeling like there was a hangman’s noose pulled tightly around her neck, the weight of it all crushing her down. And every second that passed was a tick-tocking countdown to the thirteen steps up the metaphorical gallows.

Those seconds were acting like whimsical bastards too, ticking somewhere between a moment and an eternity, too slow and too fast at the same time.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

_ Tock _.

_ ‘Better yet, stop thinking entirely.’ _

_ ‘If you’re going to fail might as well fail spectacularly.’ _

What a load of neurotypical bollocks. 

Walking through life with Scorp tinted glasses was odd, to say the least, like every single bit of brainpower was being channelled to chew this over and over again, wondering what she would say, what she would do. 

Wondering if she _ should _ even say or do anything.

It was insane, all of it, simply mental. Mental that she was even considering it.

“Oy, earth to Rose,” Penny said, smacking a clipboard over her chest. “Mrs Wallace needs a round of Pepper Ups.”

Rose bit down on her lip. “Sure.”

Floating through her day like she wasn't really _ there_.

For ten years, any and all thoughts Rose Weasley had dedicated to Scorpius Malfoy had been of the pissed off, complaining variety. He’d been like an annoying fly buzzing around Al, one that wouldn’t quit, no matter how many times you hexed it. 

A nuisance rather than an actual person.

In the last few months, he’d been elevated to furniture status, something that simply _ existed _ in the near vicinity and that you couldn’t help but notice, like a flickering lamp or an uneven table. 

And now?

Now he was an all-pressing concern, nagging at the back of her head, day and night, a new, unforeseen source of constant fucking anxiety. 

Like she didn’t have enough buggering problems.

“Are you alright?” Jesse asked, placing his tray next to hers and giving her plate a dubious glance. “What’s that - I want to say _ stew_…? - done to you?”

“Oh.” Rose looked down at the serving in front of her, mashed beyond recognition by her fork. “Sorry, no, I’m just… a little out of it.”

Understatement of the century.

“Is it the move?” Jesse threw her a pitying look. “Pen and I can help if you want.”

Clearly not: somehow her Scorpius anxiety had even muffled her Greenland anxiety.

Indifference and comfort had been replaced with something else, something that just wouldn't _ shut up_. 

“Yeah, the move.” Rose closed her eyes and covered her mouth to choke down a laugh. “Yeah, that’s it.”

How ridiculous. All of this was absurd and petty and small and just plain _ stupid_. 

Rationally speaking, she knew what she should do: she should tell Scorpius Malfoy to take a long, scenic hike and then _ she _ should take her own scenic hike all the way to Greenland.

That would be the smart thing to do, the _ safe _ thing to do.

The problem was, she didn’t want to do either of those things. She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want him to go back to being furniture. 

She didn’t want him to ever look at her in any way but the way he did now.

Like he saw something in her that she couldn’t see, something she desperately wished was there… but was pretty sure wasn’t.

What would happen when he realised it wasn't?

“_Exceeds Expectations_?” Alec Sauvage was stretching his arms over his head and tutting as he not-so-subtly peered down at her Poisons’ paper score. “Dropping the ball, are we Weasley?”

“I’m guessing you got an Outstanding,” Rose said, rolling her eyes. “Good on you.”

“Better luck next time,” he replied with a patronising shrug as he fanned himself with his own results, forgotten the very second he walked out of her sight. 

She looked down at the flourished ‘E’ on her paper and couldn’t even bring herself to care about it: this buggering business was putting a gag on everything else, like her life was frozen still, waiting for an outcome.

_ Any _ outcome would be better than this limbo - except, of course, that was a bloody lie: the limbo was comfortable and she didn’t want to leave it, no matter how bright things might like on the outside. 

Nothingness was better than disappointment. 

Nothingness was better than Scorpius Malfoy inevitably figuring out she wasn’t what he thought she was - whatever _ that _ was. 

Because honestly? There was absolutely no way in hell he wasn’t delusional. 

What was he thinking? 

How could he --

Who could, really? Who in their right mind would look at her, _ really _ look at her and think ‘yep, I want more of _ that _ in my life’?

Worse still, what would happen when he finally came to his senses?

* * *

What little anxiety she’d woken up to was _ nothing _ compared to the state she was in as the day dragged on and on and _ on_. At one point she’d finally located her magitech and spent far, far too long typing a message or just staring at the call button.

Just staring at it, wondering what she’d say. 

Low-key panicking, nothing new. 

She found herself in the kitchen with her mum at one point of dinner, both fixing the salad - pretending they were actually any help and that her dad hadn’t in fact done everything else.

“Pass me that knife, would you? Are you going to tell me what all that was really all about?” her mum asked after a while. When Rose’s eyes fell on her, she clarified, “You don’t expect me to believe you’ve had a Troll?”

Rose’s heart sank to her feet. She wasn’t entirely sure she could take any more today.

Her mum laughed, curls bobbing. “Your first mistake was letting _ Hugo _ pick your lie.”

She had half a mind to kill him before leaving.

“I had a... _ day_, you know?” Rose said carefully in lieu of an explanation, sitting up on the counter, taking a piece of carrot from the salad her mum was making and popping it in her mouth. “A year, really.”

The Minister of Magic nodded understandingly. “I’ve had those.” 

“How _ do _ you do it?” Rose asked, looking helplessly around them. “How do you--" _ reform the wizarding world _ , really "-- _ work _ and then come home and… make _ salad. _”

“Priorities.” 

There was a tone of complacency to her mum’s tone and Rose took a very deep breath as she tried to keep herself from tossing the bloody salad out a window - the world really _ must _ look tiny from the massive pedestal these people lived in. 

'_Priorities_'.

What a mind-boggling concept. Really, how had she never considered that?

“A lot of trial and error," her mum continued. 

The knife cut cleanly through the lettuce in that same meticulous way her mother had of doing everything - Rose suspected her inability to cook had more to do with unwillingness rather than an actual lack of talent.

“When you and Hugo were growing up there were times when I didn’t prioritise right.”

The knife hesitated, resting on top of the cabbage and then sliced through with a tad more violence than would necessarily be required.

“There were times when I prioritised you two over your father. When I didn’t see your grandparents far too long. There were times when I did nothing but work.” She let out a laugh and _ chop chop chop _ went the knife again. “Sometimes I’d think I had it all figured out only for life to get a little harder and all of a sudden I couldn’t balance anything all over again.”

Fine, maybe her mum’s horse wasn’t that high. Her pedestal probably had a nice scenic view over the struggling, unwashed masses.

Rose nodded. “I feel the same. I keep juggling and things keep falling. There’s only so much of me and…”

“_So much _ that needs to be done,” her mum said, rolling her eyes with understanding. “_Thank you_.”

Or maybe she _ did _ understand.

“Yeah,” Rose said with a small rueful smile. "That."

“When you and Hugo were kids, I didn’t think of anything else. I'd be someplace else and all I could think was ‘why am I not home, they need me’.”

Rose’s childhood, for the most part, had been her dad. Her dad everywhere, a blur of her Nan and Grandfather and a lot of cousins and Aunts. Her mum had been there but as sort of a… not so present figure.

“You weren’t around much, no.”

Her mum let out a nervous laugh. “I wasn’t. I was on the fast track to becoming the youngest Minister in British History and I… took it.”

“Did you ever regret it?”

Rose wasn’t entirely sure she wanted the answer to that question. What sort of question was it, really, ‘do you regret abandoning your kids to reform the wizarding world’s utterly buggered legal system’?

“Oh, all the time. This is why women can’t get ahead,” the Youngest Minister For Magic grumbled. “We’re far too attached to people.” At the look of horror in her face, her mum looked contrite. “I don't mean it in a bad way. Or maybe I do, I'm not sure.” 

“But how do you know where you should be? How do you _ pick_?”

“You just… do. And then you stick with it.” Her mum dropped the salad she was chopping into the bowl and sighed. “If you ignore the nagging feeling that you should be doing something else it'll get quieter and quieter.”

“You mean guilt,” Rose deadpanned. “You’re literally describing _ guilt_.”

Her mum scoffed. “It’s only guilt if you can do something about it and don’t.”

“What if there isn’t enough time, _ ever_?” 

“You get a Time-Turner.” Her mum let out a laugh like it was the most precious joke, chestnut hair bobbing. “No, I mean… of course you can’t do _ everything_. You have to find a balance.”

‘Balance’ was another funny one. ‘Balance’ was all fine and good when you were standing on solid ground, it was another thing entirely when you were standing on a tightrope and Life kept throwing shit at you, like a relentless, sadistic monkey.

Rose looked down at her twisting hands. “What if there isn’t enough _ energy_?”

“Then some things just won’t get done and that’s fine too. You're only human.” 

Rose felt something brush at her hair and looked up to see her mum scowling. Her mum’s fingers gently weaved through her fringe in an affectionate scritch or the sort you might give a puppy dog. 

_ You’re only human_.

For a second, all she wanted to do was cry - and then the hand was gone.

_ Chop chop chop_.

“You just need to make sure they’re the right things," her mum continued, "and that looking back you'll feel… like it was worth it. Maybe seeing someone would help you sort through it. We’ve talked about this before but… maybe now would be a good time to start.”

_ Therapy_. 

The mere concept made her anxiety hiss, which was somewhat ironic.

"You're not _ listening_." Rose’s stomach knotted and she sucked the tears back in. “I don’t have _ time_. I’m barely holding on as is without --”

“Without taking an hour a week to take care of _ yourself_? Doesn’t even need to be per week, per month. Per _ year_.” Before Rose could protest further her mum wrapped an arm around her neck and pulled her closer, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Just.... think about it, yes? You don’t need to go _ today_, you just need to entertain the possibility.”

“You think I need _ therapy_?”

Her mum let out an incredulous chuckle, eyebrows shooting upwards. “You don't?”

Obviously she did, it was just terrible to have someone point it out - worst of all your own _ mum_.

“I know I do,” Rose said slowly, annoyance filling her. “I’m not _ that _ far gone yet.” 

She might be an anxiety-riddled menace, but she was a self-aware anxiety-riddled menace, thank you very much.

Her mum blinked and hid behind a frown. “I think maybe you are.”

“I don’t have the time or energy to find someone who’s _ right _for me. Costs outweigh the gains.”

“You could see mine,” she offered. “He’s good, I promise. I’ll pay for it if that’s what’s stopping you.”

“It’s not.” Rose scoffed. “And no thank you. I’ll find one... _ eventually_.”

Ha, yes, of course she would. 

No, no, she wouldn’t.

“Speaking of,” her mum said after a few seconds of quiet, “your Grandfather was asking when you last went to the dentist.”

“See, it’s like it all keeps _ piling_.” The annoyance grew, moulding itself with her helplessness. “Before you ask, _ no_, I haven’t taken my pap smear yet either and I _ live _ at St Mungo’s.”

And the last time she'd conditioned her hair she'd still been living at her parents'. Also who even knew when she'd last gotten a haircut.

Her mum looked amused. “I have no idea how you made the mental jump there, but if it’s on your mind maybe you should consider doing something about it.”

“I know I _ should _but --” 

“It’s low on your priorities?” Rose nodded and her mum gave her a pitying look before hitting the final nail on the coffin, “_You’re _lowest on your own priorities.”

And wasn’t that just the gospel truth?

* * *

It was quite simple, you see: she couldn't do it.

She simply couldn't. 

There was limited chit-chat one could pull out of one's arse at the moment of departure and Rose had never been particularly good at it. Her latest attempt to ask about differences in décor ("Is that a new clock?") had backfired quite spectacularly - apparently, the clock had been there for about three years, she'd just never noticed it before.

Her courage had been repossessed after the initial spurt that morning. She'd been at her best then, given it her all and all that was left now was…

Well, not her best.

What was left was downright cowardly.

She hovered close to the fireplace at her parents', bag swung over her shoulder with everything she'd brought along and quite a number of things she hadn't - every time her parents swung past her they remembered something else she simply _ must _ take.

Thus encumbered it was no wonder she could barely walk - nothing to do with what was on the other side of the fireplace, no.

Nothing to do with Scorpius Malfoy and his terminally pretty hair, knicker dropping grins and eyes that were too earnest.

Too_ real_.

Too invested, too… affectionate.

It was unnatural, how he made her feel. Mostly terrified, yes, but also… wanted.

And she'd been the wanker who had thrown all that in his face and run away. And then she'd been the wanker who hadn't gone home because that band-aid was feeling just a little too sticky to pull.

You see, she'd tried once and it had sort of fizzled into nothingness and now she was having a really, _ really _ hard time going back.

She wasn't quite ready to face all that, not again. 

And so she had backtracked, again and again, until it was far too late and her parents had asked, out of pure politeness and probably a little bit of frustrated tiredness, if she wanted to stay.

She'd said 'yes'.

* * *

Anger simmered quietly inside Scorpius, still temporarily outweighed by worry: Rose hadn’t come home. 

This was new and… different and, most importantly, completely uncharted Rose territory.

She might bang doors and hide in her room, but she’d be out the very second when reason slapped her on the face and told her to get a grip.

Whatever this was, it was new. 

Whatever it was, it was taking too long.

Whatever this was, it was making him skittish and nervous and angrier by the second at the _ unfairness _ of it all.

What was he, an ogre? Couldn’t she just tell him ‘Uhm, sorry, not interested’? 

What did she think was going to happen, that he was going to stomp around and lock the princess in the Malfoy dungeon, let out a villainous cackle and tell her that no, she couldn’t go fuck off to Greenland and be jolly well happy?

What in the bloody hell was going on here?

What sort of _ inane _ logic was twisting inside her brain and turning this outrageously simple interaction into something unmanageable?

It was ‘yes’ or ‘no’, there was no in-between. There were no shades of grey, kinky or otherwise. 

It was fucking ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and he could live perfectly well with both - what he couldn’t live with was Rose Weasley hiding from him at her _ parents’_, of all the ridiculous, bollocking notions.

* * *

It was only the first ‘yes’ day and, in a completely predictable turn of events, she couldn’t _ sleep_.

Then it was already the second 'yes' day, and of _ course _ mother nature had come calling, the stabbing pain in her kidneys making merry with the anxious pangs in her stomach in a coordinated symphony of agony. 

It was now the third 'yes' day, and she could tell that her parents were getting a bit tired of the fireplace dance.

In the dead of night, hidden under her brother’s sheets and hugging his pillow, Rose Weasley let out a bitter laugh.

Avoiding the inevitable was easy. 

But the inevitable was, as the name indicated, unavoidable. The growing anxiety inside her threatened to topple over and crush her any moment now. She could run, she could hide, but there it was, looming down at her with a Cheshire grin, whispering ‘_you can pretend all you want, but I’m still here_’.

Another laugh, smothered against the pillow.

What was it her mum had said? 

_ It's only guilt if you can do something about it but don't? _

How absurd. How utterly ridiculous. How… _ stupid_.

Possessed of a sort of momentary insanity, Rose snapped to a sitting position, brushing a hand through her hair. 

She let out another chuckle, rife with unpleasantness as her feet touched the floor and yet another as she shook her head and slipped her arms into her jacket.

_ If you’re going to fail might as well fail spectacularly. _

Another laugh, this one choked and painful, digging into her ribs and her stomach.

She left a note on her door, a ‘_Can’t sleep, need my bed, I’ll call tomorrow_’ note that she laughed throughout writing because there was nothing else she could do - not unless she wanted to go back to crying.

This had _ bugger all _ to do with her bed.

In the dark of the night, Rose Weasley, consummate coward, stared at the fireplace like she had for the past three days. She flirted with it a while, pacing back and forth, letting out the occasional muffled laugh and bit down curse.

Once again, from the top.

Again.

And again. 

And again. 

A step forward, two steps back.

_ He isn’t there lying in wait_, she told herself sternly. _ He’s asleep_. 

Because he was a normal person and his entire buggering world didn’t revolve around her. She was irrelevant.

_ Not unforgivable_. _ Irrelevant_.

She only needed to Floo back home. That was easy, she could do that.

One step at a time.

_ Ha_.

What was it with being her that turned rationally minuscule tasks into impossible, herculean feats? 

Rose let out another laugh and grabbed a handful of Floo, taking a step into the fireplace and letting the Floo trickle down from her fingers as she whispered her address.

_Their_ address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to The Dark Night of The Soul - Part Two, aka the moping beat. Yeah, this went full circle. There were other places to cut it off, but this felt like simultaneously the cruelest and kindest so I'm running with it. Worry not, the next chapter is our climax ( 😏 ) and hopefully we can all let out a collective breath and move on with our lives.
> 
> I'd like to give the greatest thanks to cjpendragon and SpaceJesus63 without whom this chapter would never have left my gdocs. I'd also like to thank DukeSilver983, Annabeth_Scamander, justanotherawesomeowl, LordLockhart1770, Arwin_Fred, Nina, HildaCobble, odd_aben and TheVera. Special thanks to Reader Maria aka beelabambres and TackyCat - I'm alive and well my loves, Jan/Feb whooped my ass proper and I'm simply a bit... out of it all right now. 
> 
> I'd also like to tell the world to bugger off because it's starting to become a nuisance. I hope March 2021 will be kinder to us all and, wherever you are, I hope you're well and that your family and loved ones are doing a-okay.
> 
> \-------------------------------
> 
> As a side note: whoever you are, wherever you are, if you feel like you might benefit from professional help and you have the option to get it, please give it a think. 
> 
> The words 'therapist' and 'psychiatrist' still feel horribly taboo for some countries, circles and people, but the truth of the matter is it might help improve your quality of life. I'm not saying getting a therapist and appropriate meds is guaranteed to magically fix the mess happening inside us, but there is a very strong possibility that it will /help/.
> 
> We all have good days and shit days and we always will, but taking that initial step might do you an unforeseen world of good and help you cope better with the shit ones. 
> 
> There might be a teeny tiny voice inside of you that tells you you're being 'overdramatic' or that tells you you're just 'lazy' or 'worthless' and that you're 'just not strong enough' or that you 'need to get a grip' but... the fact is, you're not alone in feeling that way. I've felt it, my sister's felt it, my husband, friends have all felt it at some point. And you might be afraid that you go to a professional and they'll tell you that the tiny voice is right - but they won't. 
> 
> The tiny voice is an asshole, and the tiny voice needs to go get fucked by a very hot hair curler. You're none of those things and you deserve to prioritise and take care of yourself where you can. 
> 
> So don't be like Rose. Don't be lowest on your own priority list. 
> 
> \-------------------------------
> 
> Love, Maria ❤️


	30. Climactic Double Entendres

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly advice for those of you who are smut sensitive: put your blinders on, it's going to get a little bit rocky and a bit weird. You have been warned.
> 
> *flies off cackling*

**May 21th 2028**

Footsteps. Tentative, quietly trampling the silence in the living room.

Scorp was snapped out of the superficial half-sleep he’d been indulging in for the last few days. In the dark room, lit only by a small beam of moonlight coming out the windows, the familiar shape of Rose Weasley faltered for a second.

He shuffled a little on the couch, quietly arranging his book onto a more conspicuous ‘I Wasn’t Waiting For You, I Just Fell Asleep Reading’ way.

He could tell the very second she realised he was there, freezing in place with a sharp intake of breath. It took a second, maybe two and then he heard a sigh of relief that made him want to get up and scream ‘_really_?!’ at her.

Out of spite or maybe just curiosity, he stayed put, eyes open in narrow slits like a dragon waiting for its prey.

The footsteps neared and Scorp closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe convincingly.

In and out.

Slowly.

He felt her crouching down in front of him, felt her warm breath tickling his nose before she stood again. She took a step away and then hovered for a second before her words rang in the darkness: 

“I can tell you’re up,” she said, voice shaking slightly. “What are you, five?”

His eyes snapped open and he looked up indignantly at her. “What are _ you_, a cat burglar? Why are you creeping around?”

He didn’t even need to see her to know she was rolling his eyes.

“Me? I’m going to bed.” She shook her head and whipped around. “Haven’t slept properly in days. You know --”

Pretending nothing had happened.

“-- it took me so long to get used to the sounds of this place and now it’s so difficult to sleep anywhere else.”

Making _ chit-chat_. 

He usually despised chit-chat, but now disdain had turned into full-blown hatred.

“_Seriously_?” Yeah, fine, that had come off a little aggressive, but that was what he was working with now. He sat up, closing the book over his lap and stared at her with a mix of indignation and incredulity. “_That’s _ what you’re going with?”

She visibly hesitated, foot hovering as if she was about to step forward and then shook her head, letting out a strangled laugh that sounded _ nothing _ like her. “Can’t it be?”

Her voice was so quiet it barely qualified as a whisper and, in contrast, the laugh he let out cracked the pervasive silence in the flat: “I haven’t seen you in three days, so _ no_, it can’t.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.” She smiled grimly and looked away, jaw set. “Hence the three days.”

“What happened to - _ oh, I don’t know _ \- _ talking_?” 

“Talking?” A chuckle. “Talking died a painful death around the time… well, around the time --”

“We had sex?”

“Yeah.” Another chuckle. “_That_.”

He loved her, but every so often he wanted to shake her. 

“Why?” He got up to his feet and took a step in her general direction and she took a step back. “Why wouldn’t we talk?”

Another step and yet another one from her. She was biting her lower lip, eyebrows scrunched into a frown.

“_Why not_?” he repeated, eyebrows raised with defiance. “You’re fine with sashaying here in the wee hours of the night and telling me all about your insomnia. Why can’t you tell me ‘whoops, mistakes were made’?”

She stopped, jaw tilted upwards and mouth pressed into a thin line. “Whoops, mistakes were made,” she deadpanned, before repeating in an incredulous tone, “_Whoops, mistakes were made_? I’m sorry if I gave it a little more thought than that. I’m sorry if --” She shook her head, letting out a huff and brushing a hand through her hair. “You really have no idea. You…”

“_Me_?! _I_... 'have no idea’?” The gall of her. The fucking _gall_. “You, _you _have no idea. Do you have _any_ _idea_ what it felt like being relegated to Underpants Wanker status?”

Her eyebrows shot up and the corner of her mouth pinched upwards, presumably as she figured out what he was talking about. 

“Don’t you _ dare _ smile,” he growled, shaking his head and looking up at the ceiling. “I swear, I’ve had it up to _ here _with this insanity and...”

She visibly balked - and that was when she did the most outrageous thing of all: she laughed. Laughed like he’d just said the funniest joke, one he’d missed entirely.

“_What_?”

“I’m just…” She shook her head. “I figured you would be. So that fixes that, right?”

The smile on her face was something ugly and sad and bitter and he wanted nothing more than to make it stop.

“_What_?” he asked dumbly. “What fixes what?”

“This. Us. You’re done right?” She bit down her lower lip and shook her head again, closing her eyes shut and looking pointedly to the side. “Good. Well, this was a productive chat. I’m just --”

Done?

What on _ earth _ was happening here?

“-- going to sleep now. I have a free day tomorrow but I’m behind on studying and --”

How had she gone back to pretending nothing had happened?

“-- honestly, it’s just good to be back. Where’s Al?”

Scorp brushed a hand over his forehead and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “What are you _ on _ about, you nutcase?”

She turned away and sat down at her usual table, opening the bag she’d been carrying over her lap, face covered with her hair. 

“Rose?”

Her shoulders shook. “Yes?”

Something was wrong.

Sometime in the last minute, something had gone horribly wrong.

“Rose.”

“What?” She sounded defensive and when she looked up at him, he could see her face was flushed with anger. “_What_?”

He gingerly took the bag from her lap, crouching down next to her. “What did I say?”

“You said nothing.” Her lower lip shook and her scowl bit further into her eyebrows. “We’re fine.”

“We’re obviously not fine.” Her hand dug into the legs of her pyjama pants. “Rose.” The creases her fingers were digging into the fabric became chasms. “What did I say?”

She looked away, mouth pressed into a tight line and let out a huff through her nose, then another, then another. 

She was… laughing?

“You said…” Another huff and a toss of red curls. “You said you were done with the insanity. And that’s fine. I get it, I mean, it’s not exactly… I mean, I sort of expected it. I did run away, like a wanker and not say anything for three whole fucking days and…”

His hand found hers and he gave it a squeeze and she looked down at him, biting down on her lip again.

Shit, that was her crying face.

“Rose --”

“Hugo said I was running out of apologies but for that at least I _ am _ sorry." Her voice was strangled and odd and punctuated by those helpless little exhales. “And I mean, I _ am _ leaving, so good on you.”

Questionable as the words coming out of her were, at least she was talking.

“And you’re right, I should’ve said something and I don’t blame you for being mad. I get that.” 

It was a nightmare. It had to be.

Because if that was what she thought was happening here… if that was what she’d been stewing on… if that was the brilliant conclusion she’d reached in the past few days…

“I mean, I’m not much of anything to start with and fuck if I know what you were getting out of this anyway --”

She was pointedly looking _ anywhere _ but him now, but her hand was holding his almost as tightly as his was holding hers.

And Scorp's heart was shattering with every single word.

Al had spent years refuting Scorp's claims that Rose was a stuck-up cow. He'd always acted it as if the mere concept was ludicrous.

If this was what she thought of herself, what she _ really _ thought… then it was no wonder.

“-- other than maybe potential sex, but I mean, been there done that so I get it if you… don’t… _ need _ this anymore. I mean, that’s reasonable and fair and --”

Like she was somehow discardable. 

Like he hadn't spent three days worried out of his mind. 

Like his sun didn't shine out of her arse in the first place.

“No.”

She finally looked down at him and her eyebrows shot upwards. “No?”

“No,” he repeated firmly, shaking his head. “Just… _ no_.” 

“Just no?”

“All that gibberish you’re spewing… no.” Scorp looked heavenward and rolled his eyes. “Just... _ no_.”

Wide eyes stared back at him in the darkness and, even if he couldn’t see the blue in them, he could’ve told you the exact shade out of a lineup of blue copycats.

“No what?”

He was going to have to spell it out for her. _ Again_. 

Merlin, sometimes he wondered if she was daft or he was.

“This changes fuck all,” he lied through his teeth, smothering down all the fruitless expectations he’d been building in his head since that night. “The fact that you buggered off to your parents was,” he let out a huff, “_ unexpected_, but somehow predictable. It changes nothing. I’m not... _ mad_.”

Another lie, but she was clearly beating herself up enough for the both of them. Had he known this was what she was thinking, he’d have jumped into that fucking Floo and told her to not be an idiot days ago. 

“How can you _ not _ be mad?” Rose’s eyes were wide. “Why… _ how_? I was a _ dick _ and I left you there and--”

“You fucked up, big deal. People fuck up,” he said dismissively. “Doesn’t matter.”

“How can it not matter?” There was a pause and her grip on his hand faltered. “_ I was a dick_. You're supposed to be pissed off. I _ left_.”

Had she left after what he assumed was extraordinary drunk sex? 

Why yes. 

Gotten his hopes up and then had them dashed via Albus Potter and a mug of outrageously bad tea? 

Quite.

“Doesn’t _ matter_,” he repeated. And, just in case her ears were full of wax, just so there could be no misinterpretation whatsoever, he added a very pointed, “I _ still _ like-like you.”

The hand in his tightened and Rose's hair fell over her face, shielding it from view.

Quiet again, as though the words might break her, she asked, "_But why_?"

Ah, yes, the question no one really could reply to in a satisfying way, _ ever_.

The only thing that came to mind was how could he _ not_?

There were a million whys and not enough words in the universe. Every single time she smiled at him felt like a small miracle.

But he also hadn't been born stupid and he wasn't going to say that either. It was, after all, a no-win question.

“See, you can’t even say why.” 

She gave him a smug look, one that clearly said '_aha, I won this fucked up battle of wits_' and the angry thing inside him broiled once more. 

* * *

And there it was, she’d finally proved to herself that this was all just plain wrong. 

She was on a roll now, a painful one where every word was meant to hurt… except she was really just hurting herself. 

“And that’s good because it’s pointless anyway. And also you can’t just… take shit lying down, what is wrong with you?” Rose’s hand tried to slip away from his. “You get pissy if we buy the wrong dish soap but I ghost you and you’re _ not mad_?”

“Of _ course _ I’m mad.” Scorp scowled, hand tightening around hers into a vice. “You _ still _ don’t get it, do you?”

“Of course I do,” she said petulantly. “You need to get out there and get laid and just… get on with it. There are other people out there, _ better _ people who you're missing out on. Plenty of fish in the sea who aren’t leaving for fucking _ Greenland _ in two months. Why the fuck are you wasting your time on _ me_?”

She regretted the words almost instantly. He let out an ironic chuckle. Incredulous, even. 

But reason had finally won, the inconvenient shit. 

It was never about Greenland.

It had always been about her.

_ You’re not the only one_, was what she wanted to say. _ You’re not alone in this. _

But that would be unfair and, most of all, pointless.

“You have this misguided notion that I’m not going to pull this sort of rot again but guess what? I _ am_. And you’re going to figure that out soon enough and, honestly, I’m not waiting around until you do. And I _ get _ that you _ think _ you like me --”

“No, you don’t _ ‘get’ _ .” His hand tightened around hers and Rose whimpered at the sheer force of it. “Look at me,” he said quietly. “_Look at me_.”

Rose bit down on her lower lip and slowly looked back, her gaze defiant. 

“I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better listen.” 

His tone was sober. Nothing about him showed any intention of kissing her or anything of the sort. Relief and also low-key disappointment washed over her - she'd killed that dead, hadn't she? 

_ Good_.

“There are about eight people in total that I love in this world.”

Too soon to relax, apparently: at the word ‘love’, Rose almost choked on her own spit.

Scorp rolled his eyes before continuing: “Don’t be a baby about it. You love Albus, I love Albus. You love your mum, I love mine. I also love you - and I don’t mean that in a silly infatuation sense. There’s nothing fanciful about it.”

Rose swallowed and nodded. Just once. Just to see where the hell this was going, ignoring the fact that a million butterflies had been let loose in her stomach.

“Does Yardley count?” she asked, trying to inject some lightness into it.

He all but swatted the lightness away. “No, he bloody well does not.”

“Does Kate?” 

Scorpius simply raised an eyebrow at that. “You’re not wriggling out of this, so shut up and listen for once.”

Rose nodded, mesmerized at the storm brewing behind the calm grey eyes. 

That one beam of moonlight was being an unhelpful bastard and shining smack on his face, like the universe had provided Scorpius Malfoy with a personalised lighting technician.

Because of _ course _it had.

“Eventually, I’ll, like you so well put it, ‘_get on with it_’.” He snorted disdainfully and Rose’s heart slammed against its confines. “But that _ doesn’t _ mean I’ll stop loving you. We’ll be old and grey and we’ll _ still _ be friends and there’s sod all you can do about it. Are we clear?”

_ Fuck, she was a goner. _

“Okay,” she said slowly. 

“And if you don’t want me, that’s fucking fine, but don’t you _ dare _ try to convince me that I don’t want you or that I’m somehow wrong just because _ you _ think you’re not worth it.” He huffed and got back up to his feet. “ _ I _ think you are and I have excellent taste. So unless you feel very, _ very _ strongly against it and come up with a very good reason why not, I'm keeping you. That settled?”

She nodded again. Nodded because everything inside her was feeling warm and tight and, unlike Scorp, she wasn’t made of words.

_ I'm keeping you. _

“Good.” He took a deep breath and brushed a hand through his hair. “_Merlin_, you exhaust me sometimes.”

“Are you done?” she managed to croak out. 

“I think so.” He closed his eyes for a second and took another breath. “Wait-- Nope, yeah, I’m good. So --”

Rose crashed into him, arms wrapped around his neck. He froze for a second and melted against her, arms wrapping themselves tightly around her. 

He quaked with frustrated laughter that tickled her neck. “Are you done beating yourself up?”

Everything about him was warm, to the point where she thought she might burst.

"No. I'm still sorry." Rose closed her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. “And I love you too.” His arms strained her tighter and she quickly added, “Not in the… what did you call it?”

“Silly infatuation?”

“That. Not _ that _ way. Just…” She bumbled, “I mean, _ sort _ of that way but…” Rose pressed her forehead helplessly against his chest. “How are you never embarrassed?”

“Because I have a very limited number of shits to give,” he said, putting a kiss to her forehead. “Whereas you’re… well. You _ care_.” 

How? How was he like this? How did he always make it sound like a _ good _ thing?

He sounded absolutely certain of what he was saying, no doubt, no hesitation whatsoever. As if she was alright and anyone who thought otherwise - including herself - were simply… _ wrong_.

“What if you change your mind?”

Was it possible for someone to roll their eyes with their body? Because if so, Rose felt like Scorp just _ had_.

"About?"

"Me."

“I won’t.” 

“But what if you _ do_?”

“I _ won’t_.” Scorp scowled down at her. “There is literally nothing you could do and no one you could become that would make me go away.”

What the hell could she say to that? To any of it, to all of it? 

There were no words. She didn’t have them in her and even if she’d had them, she doubted she could bring herself to say them.

So instead she did the only thing she could think of doing, which was kissing him. Because it was the only way she knew how. Because she loved him, _ not _ in a silly infatuation way... but also in the _ silliest _ infatuation way possible.

Her mouth brushed against his, softly, hands cupping his face and he didn’t even hesitate before he kissed her back. 

_ I missed you. _

His tongue flickered against hers in a way that made her smile and open her eyes in delight and shock and he gave her a look that could only be described as _ smug_.

_ I love you_.

Body folded over hers so close, so tight that she was practically bending backwards, his hands on her waist and her arms around his neck the only thing keeping her from falling. 

It was nothing like before, when they'd been drunk off their minds. Before it was… not real. Not her. Not him. Someone else entirely, smoke and mirrors hiding reality.

Her chest felt like it was about to burst and so did her face, which she imagined was a rather unflattering shade of puce at this point. 

She laughed into the kiss. Laughed because, honestly, she’d never felt happier. 

He pulled away and growled, “I swear to Merlin, if you bring up Jesse Boot right now, I _ will _ kill you,” before pulling her back to him with a renewed sense of urgency. They stumbled across the living room toward the nearest armchair or sofa, bumping innocent shins against several inconveniently placed bits of furniture. 

Except apparently there was a bit of a disagreement as to what constituted the nearest armchair/sofa, which resulted in a very heated tug of war until Scorp, with a pointed eye-roll, unceremoniously picked her up and dumped her on the couch.

“For the record,” he said, “this isn’t helping either.”

And then his mouth was on hers again and her legs had somehow slid open and he was nestled between them and Rose's mind went completely blank. His fingers twisted into the belt loops at her sides and pulled her closer and she could feel a very marked mutual interest building up between them.

And just when she was spiralling and starting to unbutton the first of his shirt, she had a thought.

_ 'Why the feck aren’t you straddling that piece of Honeydukes’ Finest?' _

Rose puffed laughter into their kiss and Scorp pulled back looking half-offended, half-concerned. "_What?" _

She nuzzled into his neck giving it a nip before laughing again. "Penny asked me why I wasn't straddling you already."

"_What_?"

"A couple of months ago she literally asked me something along the lines of 'why the feck I wasn't straddling that piece of Honeydukes' Finest?" Rose's chest shook with laughter as she met Scorp's outraged look. “You being the piece of Honeydukes’.” He closed his eyes for a second, taking a _ deep _ breath and all of a sudden he was kissing her again. "I'm so... sorry, I promise --"

"First Boot," he said, in between kisses, sounding positively indignant, "now Penny?!" 

His hands let go of the belt hooks and brushed upwards, fingers teasing the skin under the edge of her sweater. 

Rose hissed, and then _ he _ laughed. 

She huffed an indignant, “_I _ can't laugh but _ you _ can?"

"Haven't you heard?" He sniggered into her neck placing kisses from her collarbone all the way to her jaw. "The world's rife with unfairness."

His hands squeezed at her bare hip and he chuckled lowly just as she whimpered into his ear. "For example, you consistently choose to run away from me and right now I have no idea if I'm playing for keeps or not." Rose froze under his touch and he gave her a cynical smile. "See?" 

Rose's breath came out ragged. "You want to get into that _ now_?"

His hands, which had been in exploration mode, settled primly on her hips, a thumb gently brushing at the bare skin under the edge of her jeans in a way that sent shivers up her spine. 

"What can I say? I’m clearly into self-flagellation." He gave her a small kiss. "If you can chat about Penny's opinions regarding my Honeydukes' physique, you can tell me what we're doing." His mouth was a bitter little smirk. "Just so I'm not left wondering where the hell it all went wrong. _ Again_."

Rose's eyes met his unyielding gaze and she swallowed. "I'm sorry." Hugo came to mind right then, a scowl on his face. “Not sorry, just --”

"S'fine." He let out a small chuckle and kissed her neck, resting his forehead on her collarbone. "I'm just making sure you know what you're doing right now." 

His arms wrapped around her shoulders enveloping her in a warm cocoon, fingers gently raking at her scalp_. _

"I don't know." Rose's hands clenched into fists at his shirt and she buried her nose in his neck. "I have no idea," she said honestly. "Nothing's changed. I'm still leaving."

He nodded, arms tightening around her. "Can't be helped."

It couldn't. Not now anyway. Cherry on top of the messed up cake, she'd wasted months that she could've spent with him. If she hadn't thought six months were enough, then what did she suppose they could accomplish in two?

"What would _ you _ do in my shoes?"

Scorp's mouth pressed into a thin line. "In the present circumstances?"

“Yes. Considering the exacting time frame and the fact that what we’re doing is pretty much emotional suicide.” 

His mouth pressed a hundred butterfly kisses over her face until her scowl melted and he was just _ looking _ at her like she was the best thing in the whole wide world. A bit like he looked at his broom, really, but Rose wasn’t about to get jealous of Scorp’s one true love.

Much, anyway.

“You're being dramatic again. I’ve told you what I’d do.” He closed his eyes and moved against her in a way that made her toes curl. “I’d visit. And I’d wait. And I’d pine. It's not the end of the world.” 

There it was again, that unflinching certainty.

"Really?"

Scorp snorted derisively. "No, I changed my mind in the past five seco--" She ground her hips back against his and he let out a strangled groan. “_Merlin_. I always knew you’d be the death of me, I’d just never imagined I’d be cheering you along.”

“But what if...” 

“Look, I’ve never wanted anything or anyone _ more_,” he whispered, fingers dragging up her spine, pressing bits of her back that made her moan into his mouth and wiping her mind momentarily clear of all the ‘what ifs’. “So stop overthinking it.”

Easier said than done.

“Even Kate?” Rose arched against him and he let out a strangled hiss before pressing a kiss to her collarbone. 

“Kate’s my dearest and oldest friend--” His fingers found the clasp of her bra and he sniggered. “-- and right now, given the choice between you and her, I’d gladly plate her with a side of bacon and drop her in the Forbidden--” He triumphantly unclasped it and added smugly, “_ \--Forest_.”

His hands brushed softly up her sides until his thumbs were trailing the undersides of her breasts. Just as Rose’s brains were prepping their ‘gone fishing’ sign, Scorp stopped. 

“Are _ you _ sure about this?” he asked.

Vulnerable. Like he was offering himself up as a human sacrifice and she was welcome to dance on his naked corpse before chucking him in a volcano.

“I’m not.” His face fell and Rose’s hands cupped his cheeks, pressing her mouth to his. “But you are.”

“Rose, you can’t just go along with --”

“I’m not.” She closed her and took a deep breath, hiding her face in his neck because just about now looking him in the eye was unbearable. “Look, I think you’re mental. At this point, I think _ I’m _ mental.” The wandering hands brushed to her back and pulled her flush against him. Rose’s heart hammered in her chest and she continued, “I _ don’t _ believe we’ll be friends when we’re old and grey. I don’t even get why you’d want to be my friend _ now_.” 

His arms tightened around her. “You _ don’t_?”

Rose shook her head and she looked to see Scorp struggling to evade her hair. One of his hands moved to it, pushing it aside, and settled on the side of her face.

“You’re far too small to fit all that insecurity,” Scorp said, sighing and pressing his forehead against hers, thumb gently stroking her face. “I can’t even _ picture _ a single version of my future that doesn’t have you in it. But obviously, you don’t believe that.”

“I really, _ really _ want to." Her voice had become very small. "You keep saying stuff like that with a straight face and --”

Scorp let out a petulant huff. “What, is my affection making you uncomfortable? I sincerely apologise.” 

He shifted to move away and Rose’s hands tightened around his shirt to stop him from leaving and he actually looked _ relieved_. 

“Aren’t you scared? How can you not be?” she asked suddenly. “Am I the only one who’s losing it right now?”

“If I didn’t have an ego the size of Gringotts you’d’ve brought me to tears by now.” His hand went back to stroking her cheek. Again, he sounded almost _ vulnerable_. “You keep shooting me down and at this point, I feel like a clingy creep for even trying. While I personally think I’m a catch--” he rolled his eyes, like _ obviously _ he was “--you keep tossing me back in the sea and yelling ‘be free’. And I’m not sure if I should go back to swimming and leave you well alone--”

Rose’s arms squeezed his neck and she shook her head.

“-- _ or _ if I should hold on,” he finished gently. “You keep giving me mixed signals here, love. And until you decide --”

“Hold on.”

“‘Hold on’ as in 'shut up' or the other one? Because --”

“The latter.”

Rose's heart hummed in her chest. The stress, the anxiety. All of it yelling at the same time and Scorpius somehow was loudest of all, that quiet certainty giving her a foothold to stand on. 

“Just to clarify: are you giving me leave to stick around until we’re both geriatric?” he asked carefully. “Because that’s what’s going to happen. I will _ stick to you like a barnacle_.”

Rose snorted into his neck.

“Oh, you think this is _ funny_, do you?” he asked, fingers digging into the soft flesh at her waist. “So help me Merlin, I will _ haul _ you to Malfoy Manor for dinner with my parents and _ laugh _ as my ancestors wriggle in their graves. I’m looking forward to introducing you to Lucius’ portrait and setting it on fire the second he inevitably sneers at you.”

“You’re _ mental._” Rose let out a strained laugh. “And I--” 

\-- _ love you_.

She stopped, the words refusing to get past her trachea. 

“Like-like me?” 

He sounded hopeful and just a smidge mocking.

“Well,” she said simply, swallowing hard. “Something like that.”

He beamed and put his forehead to hers. “Alright, Weasley. I’m counting this as a ‘yes’. This one's on you.”

And then he was kissing her and his tongue against hers made everything in her clench with anticipation. Her brain hung up that ‘gone fishing’ sign just as he pinned her to the cushions. 

One of her legs wrapped itself around his arse, pulling him closer and then the other, until there was absolutely no room between them to breathe or, more importantly, _ think_. 

“_Merlin_,” Scorp hissed, one of his hands cupping her neck, burying itself into her hair. The other one had resumed its expedition under her shirt, tracing upwards so slowly that she thought she was going insane.

She decided to take matters into her own hands, literally, her fingers yanking at the bottom of her top and swatting Scorp away so she could pull it over her head. Her breasts were partially covered with her bra, which was still hanging limply from her shoulders. 

_ Not the most attractive of pictures_, she thought with a frown, slipping it off before glancing back at Scorp.

He looked like he’d just seen the face of God. Like a cat and a laser pointer, pupils dilating until they were the size of saucers, eyes wide with… shock?

“You’re _ ridiculous_,” she said, holding herself up on her forearms to place a kiss on his stupefied face. “They’re just breasts.”

“Hush, you’re interrupting,” he said, still frowning at her boobs, hands digging into her waist. “I’m making friends here.”

“Scowling won’t make them like you better.” 

She let herself fall backwards and pulled him along. Her hands found his - those rugged, calloused fingers that sent shivers up her spine - and she brushed them all the way up her waist until they were cupping her chest. 

It took him a full five seconds to recover from whatever idiotic daze he was in, to the point where Rose was starting to get concerned. She didn’t have what you’d call body image issues - she’d seen enough naked people to know it didn’t really _ matter _ \- but his inaction was starting to become --

_ And there it was_.

His mouth attacked hers with grim determination, thumbs brushing against her nipples and sending direct jolts to that other part of her that seemed to be directly wired to them. Hands were soon replaced with his mouth and Rose’s back arched, her legs pulling him closer against her, feeling something warm dropping --

_ Dropping_.

(A/N: so I figured there was a ¼ chance that Rose would be on her monthly and I rolled for it and guess what. Ah, reality, what a fickle bitch you are.)

“Bugger,” she hissed all of a sudden, eyes opening wide. ”_Period_.”

Scorp took a second to look up at her and then resumed his onslaught of her, hands very purposely moving to the button of her jeans.

“Did you not _ hear _ me? All Ye Who Enter Beware --” 

“It’s ‘Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here’, and I resent you comparing _ this_,” he said smugly, sliding a hand between her legs and effectively extracting a moan from her, “to hell.”

“Scorp,” she whimpered a little too pathetically for her tastes and she grabbed his hand - which was working miracles on her, _ fuck _ \- and pulled it aside. “Scorp.”

He sighed and rested his chin on the breast he’d been plundering, looking resigned. “Yes, dear?”

“It’s a _ bloodbath _ down there. The spell’s barely holding it together as is and --”

The mere thought of it made her anxiety dance circles around her mind.

Scorp rolled his eyes. “I don’t get why you insist on interrupting me when I’m getting to the good bits.” Rose just looked at him as if he was insane and he groaned, “Fine. If you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

Rose gave him a helpless look even as she stroked his hair - possessively, just because she could. “Scorp, I don’t think you understand the _ gravity _ of the situation. It’s _ bad_. We can do everything else but --”

He threw her breasts one last longing look before he pulled himself upwards so he could properly kiss her. 

“Rose,” he said very seriously, propping himself on one arm next to her. “Dearest, dearest Rose.”

“Scorp,” she mimicked. “What?”

“I feel like I’ve said this a million times before but I don’t think it’s made much of an impression, so I’m saying it again." One of his hands slid into her hoop belt and pulled her flush towards the very obvious bulge in his pants. "I. Don’t. _ Care_.”

“You’re very selective with your caring,” Rose pointed out tartly, her breath hitching in her throat as she instinctively ground her hips into him. “For someone spewing all sorts of nonsense about how you --”

“Love you? Why yes, yes I do,” he said, giving her jaw a friendly nip that had the smile rushing back to her face. “And I’ve been thinking about you naked for months, which means a little blood isn't going to scare me off.”

Rose was torn between kissing him and yelling at him: she decided on both. 

“A _ little _ blood?! It's a massacre, not a paper cut!”

“I intend to shag you a million times over,” he claimed, arching an eyebrow at her. “I’m not letting a quarter of our future bliss keel over and die.” He paused for a second and stared at her as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Unless _ you _ don’t want to.”

Okay, so this was insane. Why was she feeling so turned on about _ period sex_? It was less about her and more about him taking one look at her and running away screaming for the hills, regardless of how assured he thought he was.

I mean, it was _ blood _for Merlin's sake and fine, she wasn't turned on by period sex, she just wanted him naked and groaning on top of her, period sex be damned.

“I mean,” she enunciated carefully, “I don’t... _ not _ want it? It’s more that girls are used to blood and boys get squeamish --”

“Rose, don’t you dare womansplain blood to me. It’s red, it’s revolting, we get it.” His hand dropped below her waist again and Rose whimpered into the kiss. “I’m taking a stand, establishing precedent --”

All words were forgotten as their mouths found each other again and his hand pressed lower until it was effectively stroking every complaint out of her. And then his fingers were at the button of her jeans and he was dragging the zipper down and her hands were squeezing them off and his foot was kicking them away until she was finally lying there naked, not a stitch of clothing on her. 

His eyes were dark, breathing heavy and he was looking at her with intent. His hands moved down to her knees --

She hissed, “If I bleed all over the couch I'm blaming you.”

He stopped and blinked, coming out of whatever trance he was in.

“Right,” he said, shaking himself conscious and sitting primly on the couch, dragging a hand through his hair. “Right.”

Rose breathed, half with relief, half with disappointment - of course it was all talk. Just as she was gathering her clothes back to her and telling her nethers to stop whining, he got up to his feet. “You can paint the walls in my room for all I care. We’ll Jackson Pollock the hell out of my comforter.” After a second and possibly at the horrified look on her face at the very vivid imagery, he narrowed his eyes and asked, “Too much?”

Rose let go of her bra and got up to her feet. “Definitely.”

“Maybe not the walls then, it does sound terribly grim,” he said, giving her a smile that made her insides melt. He grabbed both their wands, and added a hopeful, “You Scourgify and I’ll launder?”

He held out his hand to her, the one that said, _ I won't let you fall, _the same hand she hadn't believed last time.

She still couldn't say she was _ certain _ about this, same as she hadn't been about hurtling toward the ground from terrifying heights.

But for now, she decided to trust it. 

Just for now. 

Theoretically, it should’ve been a short walk to his room, except one of them would occasionally stop to press the other against a wall and snog them until neither of them was seeing straight - which was putting a definite damper on their progress. 

It occurred to her at some point that in spite of her efforts to ensure otherwise, he was _ still _ almost fully dressed. “Why do blokes always insist on seeing everything but we need to wait until you’re ready to --”

Scorp rolled his eyes and popped open a button of his shirt, taking a catty step backwards. “We don’t really get the appeal.” Another button followed and Rose' breath caught in her throat as she caught a peek of his stomach. “Whereas you are universally appealing.” 

Button after button opened as he smugly looked over at her, unveiling a very light patch of hair leading all down to --

A shirt hit her smack in the face.

_ Bugger that. _

She ran - skipped even - over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re an _ idiot_.”

“A very fit idiot,” he said, dragging his teeth over her ear. “I should charge admission.”

And then his hands were _ everywhere _ he was kissing her again and he’d picked her up and they were stumbling to his room, one of his hands trailing up her back and into her hair as she fumbled with the doorknob and Scorp kicked the door shut behind them. 

They fell onto the mattress, a mess of hands and tangled legs, her own fingers working on his trousers until his skin was flush against hers and Rose was whimpering into his chest. His fingers teased her and tore incoherent moans out of her, as he rubbed his dick on that aching spot between her legs, as his hands touched and his teeth nipped, tongue licked, mouth kissed every single inch of her. 

Until she thought she was going to die of it.

He stopped just then. “Yes?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Rose said, pulling him closer, “_yes_.” 

She hissed as he slid into her, his hands at her hips, his mouth on hers. Frantic disjointed rhythm pushing them over the edge again and again and _ again_.

It was a bloody mess, quite literally.

A perfect mess.

* * *

“Merlin, that’s a horror show,” Rose said, looking over at the aftermath and letting out a laugh. 

Scorp wished he had something useful to contribute, something along the lines of ‘no, you’re beautiful’ and ‘I love you too much to even notice _ all the blood _’ but honestly, he couldn’t.

In the, erm, _ enthusiasm _ of the moment, he’d noticed and cared about absolutely nothing else.

Now, however? 

He was feeling a little _ faint_.

“Ughhh,” was all he could muster, covering his eyes with his hands. “How can you _ not_…” He peered once between his fingers and closed them again as he let himself fall back on his pillow. “Oh, Morgana.”

“_Now _ you get squeamish?” Another laugh, this one clipped and uncertain. “We should have used the shower. Sorry.”

“_Don’t_... be.” Eyes still closed, he moved in the general direction of Rose’s voice and wrapped his arm around her tugging her close. “Next time we will.”

The shoulders he was holding relaxed and she let out a laugh into his chest. “Such a baby.”

“_Shut up_,” he groaned. “You’re around this sort of thing every day. I’m _ not_.”

He let out a hushed ‘thank Merlin’ under his breath and felt her laugh again. “_Squeamish _ baby.”

One of her arms wrapped around his waist and Scorp felt her other arm move, presumably as she Scourgified the crime scene in his bed around them. He felt a puff of warm air surrounding him, enveloping him as she worked her magic.

“There,” she said after a few seconds. “You can look.”

“Can I?”

“No, I left some of it just so I’d have the pleasure of clearing your barf after,” she grumbled drily. “It’s _ fine_.”

Surprisingly, it was. A careful eye opened to see everything as it should be - except of course she looked properly offended. 

Quick reminder to himself for posterity: suck it up, Malfoy.

“I’m sorry.” He gently took the wand from her hand. “I just didn’t expect there to be… so much. And it _ was _ incredible and --”

“Oh, bugger off,” she said tartly, placing a hand on his chest to push him away. “I’m not a child, you don’t need to reassure me.”

But obviously, if her meltdown earlier was any indication, he did.

His arms wrapped tighter around her and he buried his hand into her curls. 

“I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Well, I’m sorry it wasn’t perfect, but neither am I.” Rose snorted disdainfully, but he felt her relax slightly. “This is the sort of shit you’re getting and if you’re not okay with that --”

“Oh, hush.” Scorp rolled his eyes and nuzzled closer into her. “It _ was _ perfect and then it was perfectly terrifying and I’m fine with it.”

“_Lies_.”

“You’re insane.”

“_Lies_.”

“I love you and if you say ‘lies’ again, I’m smothering you with a pillow,” he added sharply. “I _ do _love you.”

A snort. “You do?”

“I do.” An arm wrapped itself around his waist, fingers digging ever-so-slightly into his back and Scorp let out a relieved sigh. “I really, really do.”

* * *

Rose slumbered peacefully, lost in comfort and -- 

Ha, ha, no, of _ course _ she didn’t, she was still herself. 

She wanted to, obviously, and in an ideal world, that’s exactly what would happen. Unfortunately, she wasn’t ideal and her insomnia and anxiety weren’t going away just because she'd gotten laid. 

Scorp’s magical dick hadn’t fixed her, that wasn’t how the world worked.

Instead, her wide-open eyes were glued to the ceiling, familiar apprehension sinking over her. Just as she was about to slip away, the arm around her waist tightened, tugging her toward Scorp’s - supposedly - sleeping form.

“No, you don’t,” he said tartly. 

He didn’t even open his eyes but his hand buried itself into her hair and he pressed a small kiss to her forehead before his chin rested on the top of her head. Rose stared blankly at the pale chest in front of her for a few seconds until grey eyes finally fluttered open, giving her a 'really?' look. He sighed and stroked her head through the mess of curls. 

“_Talk_.”

“I thought you were asleep,” she whispered.

“Almost,” he said, letting out a yawn and nuzzling into her neck. “But I figured if I left you to your own insomniac devices you’d find a way to somehow panic about this.” 

He wasn’t wrong. 

“How can you still sound so --” 

She struggled for the words, her cheek resting against his warm chest. She still couldn’t believe him, couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that _ somehow _, he…

He was still there. There had been a nagging voice at the back of her head saying that maybe all he wanted was sex and he’d get over it as soon as they were done and yet he was still there, holding onto her like a barnacle, like he said he would.

“Sound so what?” he asked, closing his eyes again.

His voice was soothing and hushed and there was nothing smug about him at all. He just… _ was_. Completely relaxed, entirely vulnerable. 

“Sound so... calm.”

His mouth curled into a grin, his hand drawing the freshly laundered comforters closer and tucking her further into the warm bubble. “I’m… _ happy_…?”

She let out an incredulous little laugh. “Really?”

“_Obviously_.”

Just like that. Like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

And Rose realised… she was too. Happy. 

An unfamiliar cosy feeling at the bottom of her stomach that felt like slipping into clean sheets after shaving and drinking tea while it was raining out. 

It couldn’t be that easy.

It just couldn’t.

“Rose?”

“Yes?”

“Are you panicking?”

She let out a peal of nervous laughter. “Are you going to ask me that every time we…”

“Maybe. Would you like to find out?” A large smile grew on his face and he opened his eyes again. “I like how you’re using the future tense, by the way.”

Rose, who had already begun regretting said use of future tense, found herself warming up to it. 

His fingers stroked her back and she smiled as he kissed her gently at first, then not-so-gently, clearly getting carried away.

She said clearly because all that carried-awayness was currently pressing against her stomach. 

“Is sex all you can think about right now?” she scolded mockingly, as her hand reached between them and gently stroked him. She was far too pleased with the way his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Is that what this is all about?”

Somehow her brain had gotten attached up to the idea that it wasn’t - but she still wanted to hear him say it. Again and again and again until she _ knew _ it in her bones. 

Until there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt in her mind. Until she could find that foothold of certainty all on her own rather than clinging to his.

“Well?” 

His eyes darkened as she stopped and he moved to pin her hands to the mattress, mouth smashing against her in an unbecoming flurry of lips and tongue and teeth.

“You can just _ ask_,” he said after a few seconds. “You don’t need to _ torment _me!”

“Ask what?”

“If I love you. Which, incidentally, I do.”

She pressed both her hands against his chest. “You were the one with the overdramatic, ‘_I’ll only say this once’ -- _”

“First off, that sounds _ nothing _ like me,” Scorp huffed. “Secondly --”

“_Does_ _too_.”

“_Secondly_,” he repeated petulantly, before placing a small kiss on the crease between her eyebrows. “When I said that, I was convinced you were going to tell me to shove off. _ Again_.”

Rose caught his mouth with hers and smiled into him. “So you’ll tell me again?”

“And again. And _ again_.”

“Tell me now.”

“I love you,” he said, affectionate and slightly possessive and entirely too self-assured. “A million times over and perhaps a little too much.”

And that’s when Rose lost the plot entirely. 

* * *

She squirmed against his arms and they immediately tightened around her. 

“Nope.”

Single word.

“Scorp, I’ll need to leave eventually.”

“Not yet,” he whined softly. 

The corner of Rose’s mouth quirked upwards and she softly stroked his hair. “I need to _ pee_.”

He was quiet for a second, a crease between his eyebrows. His arms slowly loosened their vice around her and she moved away, instantly regretting the loss of warmth and comfort.

She swayed by the door, hesitating before leaving. It felt like it all might just fade away as soon as reality came knocking and, honestly, she didn’t want it to.

“Scorp?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Still love me?”

He didn’t open his eyes but he smiled. “Obviously.”

He didn’t demand any sort of confirmation or assurance in return and Rose felt like a piece of human rot that she couldn’t just give it.

“Scorp?”

“Hmmm?”

She crawled over the edge of the bed and placed a kiss on his temple. 

_ I love you. _

Goddamnit, why was it so hard to say? 

The knife in her stomach twisted itself, just as a friendly reminder that it was still there. That no matter how happy she felt, it would _ always _ be there.

Scorp let out a moany, sleepy protest. “Go _ away_.” And then, “Come back.”

“I will.”

When she opened the door again he finally opened his eyes and braced himself on his forearms. All of him was dishevelled blond hair and serious grey eyes looking back at her. 

“If you hide in the loo,” he said firmly, “I’m breaking the door down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, okay, I don't even know what to say about this one. 😂 😂 😂 I don't know how it went from smut to period smut. 
> 
> I stand by it, tho - I'm a smutty pioneer. 
> 
> Jk, no, seriously, I went back and forth with this so much but I believe in it. It's Witch Slap smut, it had to be cute and a little funny and had to go horribly wrong somehow. 
> 
> Now, Witch Slap is obviously not done here. We have loose ends to tie, a relationship to build and some steps that need to be given in the right direction for all of our main cast. Will they end this story being full-fledged, functional and well-balanced adults? Of course not. Like FallenStar22 commented on the last chapter: "Things don't just get magically fixed because someone told you how." 
> 
> After all, Rose wasn't built in a day. 😂 (and now I'm just cackling to myself and my husband's shaking his head because I think I'm oh-so-funny)
> 
> \-----
> 
> Now: I am not dead, but it may be a little while longer before I update again. Life's a little rough right now work-wise and very, very rough writing-wise. It's been a while since I've sat down and written anything worth reading in one fell swoop. Odds are this PSA has removed some of the pressure off me and I'll end up writing like a maniac because I'm a contrarian but consider yourselves warned anyway.
> 
> Special thanks to SpaceJesus63, cjpendragon and lilvictoire for beta-ing the shit out of this - y'all are precious and I'd be lost without you. Extra love to beelabambres (Reader Maria), justanawesomeowl, Arwin_Fred, LordLockhart1770, FallenStar22 and shmebulock for their comments! 
> 
> I'll see you when I see you. Sooner rather than later, I hope!!!
> 
> Love, Maria ❤️


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